


moonlight makes us ardent (the sun returns our sense)

by stribird (timidGoddess)



Series: flip the edge and trace the grain [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Anal Sex, Bruce Wayne's A+ Parenting, Crime Boss Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is a powerbottom, Domestic Fluff, First Time, Forbidden OT3, Idiots in Love, Illustrations, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Jason Todd is Not Robin, Jason Todd's Intimacy Issues, Light Angst, M/M, Mobwife Hell Universe, Organized Crime, POV Third Person Limited, Polyamory, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Ric Grayson Fix-It, Ric Grayson isn't real he can't hurt you if you pretend he's a separate character, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Subspace, Timeline What Timeline, Topping from the Bottom, Twincest, functional selfcest that is twincest via context
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 55,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timidGoddess/pseuds/stribird
Summary: After getting rid of a few rotten eggs (or rather, Penguins) Jason Todd was expecting a lot of things to come out of his first official public debut; maybe make some good business connections, play rich new money bachelor to Gotham's bloodthirsty press, the works. Or, rather, that's the way his evening was supposed to go—until he's met and promptly pulled into the orbit of two beautiful strangers that only seem to spell trouble.◇◇◇Two paths cross under a series of extraneous contrivances and become intertwined—as a result, Jason Todd ends up with a pair of promiscuous strays in his crosshairs.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd/Ric Grayson, Jason Todd/Ric Grayson, implied Dick Grayson/Other(s)
Series: flip the edge and trace the grain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580224
Comments: 45
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin folks.
> 
> Dedicated to everyone in the Jaydick Server who tolerated my flailing about this AU for months ♡ without them this fic would still be rotting in my doc drafts!

◇

Ricardas Mary Grayson’s anger has always been a cruel, callous thing—he held nasty grudges; he was vindictive; he wasn’t kind without reason, either. 

That’s what Dick was for. 

As far back as he can remember, Ric has always had a way of detaching himself, stepping outside of his own body to observe himself, as his mouth would spew the most uncaring, alienating sort of vitriol when his temper rose; when he felt _cornered_. And right here, in this detention center, with his twin brother’s hand clenched oh, so tightly in his, Ric has never felt more cornered. So, of course he's nasty, he'll be the most terrifying person in the room if it means holding onto the last good thing he's got to protect.

Their mother always did used to call them both spitfires in their own right, Dick was warm as a hearth and burned like an inferno, Ric was cool enough to even him out but just as quick to snap like a tightly bound bowstring. Sugary-sweet and cuttingly bitter. Soft and jagged—a bizarre balancing act, but their parents loved them just the same. Loved them the way only their parents _could._

(Ric misses them like he might an amputated limb. He can still hear _Daj's_ voice, how upbeat she was right before the show, the way she inhaled sharply but didn't scream, at the moment the rope snapped and— **no**. He _can't_ go there now, he'll break if he goes back there. And if Ric breaks, Dick will too. _Don't go there._ )

When their parents fell—Ric had caught Dick’s outstretched arms and held onto them with a grip of iron, didn’t let go for anything, even with his heart pounding away all the way at the back of his throat. Their father had looked so desperately relieved even as he and Mama were both _falling down, down, down to the bottom of the tent, bodies broken, unmoving, Dick had screamed and screamed_.

Afterward, Dick had clung to him like a lifeline, apologizing for not saying anything, for brushing something off so _important_. No matter how many times Ric reassures him, he takes hours to stop apologizing, it’s like being stuck in a nightmare, except he never wakes up. But Ric knew one thing for sure--he'd made the choice to take a hold of those hands, and he's never letting them go, not now, not ever.

 _Bastards._ Ric can’t help thinking, as Dick tucks against him in their shared cot they’re led to that night. When he feels the tears wetting his shirt, he only holds on tighter. 

_Gotham is a selfish city, a greedy city, a city full of bastards._

(And Gotham wouldn’t take his brother like it did their parents. Ric wouldn’t allow it.)

◇◇◇

Richard John Grayson wants to rage and rail against the world until his voice is hoarse. He wants to turn back time, to that night on the trapeze, he wants to take his fist to _that man’s_ face and keep going until he’s not moving so he’ll never hurt his family or anyone again. 

He wants his _Daj’s_ reassuring coos and her fingers carding through his curls. He wants to perch in _Dat’s_ laps, lay his head against a broad chest and listen to that booming laugh. He wants to curl up in their trailer, as a family, with him and Rickie mushed between two warm, protective bodies.

He loves. He misses. He _wants_.

But this isn’t a fairytale. Magic doesn’t exist, time travel doesn’t exist—he wouldn’t feel those things ever again because _Ma and Pop_ ** _fell._** And there’s not a single thing in all the world that can fix it.

(‘Protective custody’, the cops had called their kidnapping—from the circus, from the colorful tents and equally colorful people, from the only family they’d ever known, _their home_.)

The only silver lining is that Ric is right here with him, that it wasn’t _just_ Dick that was taken away from that _love, warmth, happiness_ —from Haley’s. Maybe it’s shallow, finding comfort in something as awful as mutually assured misery, but even in juvie with its concrete, colorless walls, and the mean set of the adults working there, and the even meaner kids surrounding him—Ric’s eyes are still that same intense splash of blue against a world of gray. It’s the one thing that’s never once changed—never _will_ change.

And that is important.   
  
◇◇◇

A man comes for them, Dick is still angry, bitter. His anger can burn just as brightly, just as meanly as Ric’s on a good day--but he’s always been the one out of the two of them most willing to let people in.

The man’s smiles are broken and damaged--always lying, he thinks they will fix him. Ric knows by a glance they cannot, but Dick has _never_ been one to heed the signs of a lost cause.   
  
  


Bruce Wayne is a very rich man, but also a good man, Dick decides--and Mr. Pennyworth is wonderful. Ric says that he adopted them on a whim, Ric hisses that he’s a bastard, just like the rest of them. Dick just thinks he’s lonely. _Let’s stay awhile._ He begs him; _I like this nest._ And Ric has always been weak to Dick’s earnest requests—Dick can play him like a fiddle. 

(Staying is a mistake, they should’ve run far, far away, back _home,_ back to the circus and the lights and _family_ , if they had done so in the first place, perhaps things may have turned out differently.) 

◇◇◇

Jason Peter Todd is a nobody. 

In a place like Gotham, kids like him slip through the cracks--Jason has had a rotten hand dealt against him from the day he was born. Dad was a mean drunk with a chip on his shoulder, the only good thing he’d ever done for Jason shy of getting himself arrested was teaching him how to throw a damn good punch and where to aim it, teaching him that life was a merciless battle that would never cease, always be the bigger, scarier, person in the room. 

Mom, however, was far, far, too pretty for the likes of Lower Gotham but she loved him more than anything in the world. —Even when she was all strung out and vacant, she’d still run her fingers through Jason’s locks when she remembered he was there, and she’d whisper:

 _“Little Prince, you’re gonna be somebody one day, just you wait.”_

(He loved her too.)

The evening she overdosed, Jason had laid in her arms for a very long time, it took him hours to get the strength to stagger to his feet and call for the landlord.

The social worker he’s put in a room with says they cremated Ma’s body, the worker asks if Jason wants the ashes. At his placement, Jason’s given a cheap-looking sack and a single crinkled picture--he’s a toddler in this one, Ma’s holding him in his lap with a smile like sunshine.

That night when he slips out of that temporary home and into the Gotham night air, Jason makes a promise. He whispers it to the humble sack from up high atop one of Park Row’s many decrypt buildings between apologies for not spreading her ashes somewhere nice.

(Jason’s not even sure what ‘nice’ looks like. Maybe it’s those happy suburban families he used to see on sitcoms before the TV in the front room sputtered its last gasp, maybe it’s the shimmering blue oceans he sometimes spots on the front of drugstore postcards, free of pollution, unlike Gotham’s toxic harbor.)

He empties the ashes to the wind, watches Gotham sweep them far, far away, out of his reach. Because see—Jason Todd was going to _be_ somebody one day. He wouldn’t go gentle into the night, he’ll _rage, rage,_ **_rage_ ** until everyone in this godforsaken city of bastards knew his name. 

◇◇◇

When Dick runs, Ric does too—it’s them against the world, always has been, always will be. 

And as always, just like an overbearing shadow, Ric follows--he’s tired, he’s so tired, he’d be lying if he wasn’t at least a little bitter towards even Dick, at this point. But his knuckles are buzzing with lingering adrenaline--there’s an ache there that he’d have to address later, the glacial black fury in his gut is all that it takes to keep him from getting out of the car and going back to continue his and Bruce’s screaming match.

“I fucked up,” Dick says, in a small voice that reminds Ric of the day their parents fell. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, shoves away the anger, turns to meet those dulled, guarded eyes. He wants to kill every single person who contributed to making him that way.

“I can’t touch any of those trust funds,” Dick says numbly, “that’s how he’ll find me, I don’t want him to find me. I don’t want _anyone_ finding me.”

“Us.” Dick’s gaze whirls around to face Ric’s eyes going wide, Ric lifts his chin in defiance. “We’ll figure something out. Together.” And Dick’s expression just crumples, all he can manage in response is a shaky nod as he scrubs at his damp eyes. Ric reaches over and gives Dick’s hand a grounding squeeze.

“He won’t find us. That’s a promise.” 

_(They’re good at a lot of things. For example, Dick’s good with money, Ric’s a good fighter, they’re both good with lying—between the two of them, Ric figures they can work something out.)_

◇◇◇

Crime Alley is mean--Jason Todd makes his way by being meaner. He runs drugs, every brawl he gets roped into he fights his way through with vicious abandon and a chip on his shoulder big enough to rival his Pops’. 

_You fight like Willis._ A man tells him, only once--Jason had shattered his nose for it. It’s pure dumb luck that one of the Penguin’s contacts had been present. It’s a damn miracle that contact decides to take scrappy, filthy thirteen-year-old Jason Peter Todd under his wing. 

_We can use you, kid._ He says, and Jason hesitates. _You’ve got the devil in you._

Jason is many things, but he is not a fool. In another life, he may have wanted to study literature, he thinks, wanted to go finish school, be like those successful people on the television, the ones he reads about in the nonfiction section of the public library when the nicer librarian is on duty and he isn’t tossed out like the unwanted rat he is. --But, again, Jason is _not_ a fool. 

He knows full well, that with his sixth-grade education there aren’t many places he _can_ go. What future _is_ there for a nameless drug runner orphan with a good left-hook? Who would ever pick up a street kid with a dubious history and your average everyday sob story that’s heard over and over in a place as crooked and broken as the Narrows, after all?

Jason stops hesitating, he takes the offered hand. 

It’s a mistake, probably one of Jason’s bigger ones, but, well, life’s always been about the lot of the draw, hasn’t it? 

(Things get fast before they slow down. At fifteen years old, there’s a bleached white face and a painted red smile and for a while, everything just _stops_.) 

  
  
◇

◇

◇

The Grayson twins have been drifting.

From coast to coast, major city to wealthy county—there’s no settling down for a wildfire, and together, the two of them create an overwhelming inferno. LA is boring, Vegas is a whirlwind--New York is filthy, ugly and overrated to hell but was a breeding ground of rotten potential sponsors.

Dick uses his charm, Ric uses his intimidation—the setup works, _they_ work.

Somehow or another, they wind up right back where they started, back in the city that stole their everything, back in the city of bastards--back in Gotham. Ric just wants to pass through. Dick wants to stay a bit. The conversation they have feels eerily familiar, it puts Ric in a stormy mood. 

“ _He’s_ here. It’s easier for him to track us down if we linger in his territory for too long.”

“I know,” Dick says, voice quiet and full of wistful regret, and it still pisses Ric off even after several years spent bobbing along, going wherever it is a coin flip took them. The tone is an irritating reminder, one that proves Gotham still holds a piece of Dick he’ll never get back, even after ages away from a drafty gothic-style manor and crime-rotten streets. 

It almost feels like Gotham might just swallow Dick up whole and take him far, far away--just like it did both their parents, just like it almost succeeded in doing before they left. But the paranoia isn’t anything new, that’s how Ric’s _always_ felt when it came to Gotham and the lingering thrall that seemed to cling to its residents like a poisonous smog. 

“Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic, Rickie.” His twin continues with a gamely smile that makes Ric frown. 

“Gotham is a hellhole, Dick. The rich guys here are shitty and the casino mobs bust kneecaps,” Ric says with a dry cadence to his tone. He’s perched on the edge of the filthy bed in their shitty motel room, just on Gotham’s outskirts, playing with a custom lighter he’d picked up in Vegas. Black aluminum with his three initials etched onto it.

_Snap. Click. Snap. Click. Snap--_

  
Dick only beams from where he’s digging through his luggage in search of an appropriate outfit for the night. “Not if you’ve got a pretty face, Rickie--and we’ve both got that in spades.”

“Looks only go so far.” Ric chastises as he tosses the lighter with practiced hands, “We’re gonna get burned one day.”

Dick only shrugs, shooting a teasing smile over his shoulder, “No rest for the wicked, little brother--that’s how the saying goes, right?” 

Ric scoffs, “You’re older by twenty minutes.”

“Still my cute little bro—you shouldn’t frown so much, that’s how you scare people off,” and he pauses, considering, “though I guess _some_ people are into being treated like bug guts scraped off the business end of a boot. That’s a kink, isn’t it?”  
  
He shrugs, “I’ve gotten a few like that, rich people _are_ pretty repressed. Especially the conservative ones.”

“Hmm,” Dick keeps digging around in his luggage, tossing clothing every which way, Ric growls in irritation as he’s promptly hit in the face with a particularly colorful striped monstrosity of a sheer top. Dick doesn’t pay him a lick of mind. “Oh! I know we should _match_ tonight—how about a V-neck?”

He can’t hold back his scoff. “We’re not kids anymore _Dick—_ ” 

Just then, the telltale chime of Dick’s phone cuts off the conversation, Ric pauses, before reaching over to the nightstand to unlock it with Ma’s birthdate. His eyes skim over the messages, what he sees has him blinking once, then again, for a good score of seconds, he’s silent long enough for Dick to get curious and look over his shoulder. 

“Who’s messaging?”

“It’s that one graying business tycoon you were playing with back at that upper-end gala last week—says he got us entry to the Iceberg Lounge's grand reopening.”

Dick whistles, “ _Woof._ I didn’t think I rocked his world that hard.” 

“He says it's ‘under new management’. The Penguin croaked recently—or so the grapevine says.” 

Dick leans forward, growing interested with widening eyes, “Oh. That _is_ something. The Penguin was a thorn in B’s side back in the day, bet he’s dancing a happy jig right about now.”  
  
Ric scoffs, the mention of the name putting him in a sour mood, “You _really_ wanna imagine Bruce ‘Emotionally Constipated’ Wayne doing a _happy jig_?” Dick promptly grimaces, recoiling. There's something intrinsically wrong with the mental image, he decides to promptly wipe it from his memory.   
  
“... Point taken—but seriously, help me get these pants on, R, they won’t go up past my thighs.”

“Lose some muscle mass, your thighs are too big anyway.” And Ric goes right back to flipping his lighter, a smirk splitting his lips as a familiar whine cuts through their shared motel room. He doesn’t pay the sudden weight pressing into his back any attention. 

“ _Riiiiic—_ ”

It’s just a week, he rationalizes as Dick ruffles up his hair and loudly complains--just another week and they could leave this city behind and go on to the next one, away from Gotham’s hell trodden cityscape and it's too dark, never blue, smog-filled sky. No more keeping Bruce Wayne off their tails this close to his stomping grounds, no more Gotham to put a wrench in things— 

“.... Ric?” Dick holds his hand tight, Ric thinks he must have spaced out.

He leans upwards and presses a kiss to the middle of his forehead, “I’m fine just ... memories.” And his face sours, “Never liked this fucking city, Dickie—you _know_ that.”

Dick falls back on his haunches, brows knitting in worry, “I know,” he just murmurs quietly, “I _know._ But Gotham is… big Ric, practically _crawling_ with bluebloods and Bruce Wayne's,” If he notices Ric’s flinch at that he doesn’t appear bothered, “--we’d be _crazy_ not to hit it up at least once. And besides,” he winks, "I've got a _feeling_."

"Your 'feelings'," Ric adds air quotes to fully punctuate his point, "always get us into trouble."

His lips quirk as he nudges Ric with an encouraging elbow, "The _best_ kind of trouble!" 

Ric bothers his bottom lip, “... But what if we run into—”  
  
Dick cuts him off, soundly pressing their foreheads together as he absently cups his cheeks, “Then, we’ll deal with it—like we always do.”

There’s a rare, shakey inhale before Ric nods carefully, then again, more firmly, “... Right. Like we always do.”  
  
Dick beams, “Chin up. It might be fun.”

And that gets him a scoff, “Adrenaline chaser.”

He promptly shrugs innocently in response, before leaning all of his body weight against Ric again, grin turning smug as Ric groans, “Whatever! Just help me with these pants.”

◇◇◇

The Ice Lounge is every bit as extravagant as the rumors praise, marble floors, ice sculptures, on-brand decor—crawling with Gotham Socialites. It’d remind Dick of the galas of his youth not for the scores of people tossing away their life savings, he keeps his head about him and his wine in-take limited, he plays up how intoxicated he is, if only for his ‘date’ for tonight. He’s a bit too much of a lightweight to do anything otherwise. 

(Deep down, Dick’s glad it’s him and not some other unfortunate employee of the man’s--Kinglsy isn’t exactly known for keeping his hands to himself, judging by the rumors he’s heard on the sly.)

But above all--Dick is bored. _Bored, bored, bored._ Bored of Kingsley and how he keeps showing him off to anyone and everyone in the vicinity like a notch on his headboard, bored of his touch, his voice, his face. 

He’d rather go back to the motel and catch up on some reps. Gotham makes him antsy—he feels out of practice just _being_ here. 

Just as Dick’s contemplating the pros and cons of speeding things up with the business tycoon in his snare to get tonight over with, someone striking catches his eye.--His first thought upon seeing that strong jawline and that charismatic wolfish grin is something like: _Oh, how pretty_. He’s clinging onto someone else’s tie, straddling a different man’s lap while he’s caught up in his own awe, just _watching_.

_His eyes are so damn green._

  
There are broad hands on his sides, moving possessively across his waist dipping their way past that enticing v-neck into the cobalt sheer he’s wearing tonight, but Dick is too fascinated. He’s grown distracted wondering what that laugh sounds like, even as foreign lips continue to transverse his neck, dry and demanding, he keeps on watching his walking mystery work the floor from afar, going from connection to connection, drawing people into that all-encompassing orbit. It reminds him of someone—someone familiar that Dick tries not to think about these days. But ironically, it’s that same reminder that drags him in like a moth to a flame.

Ric notices. He always notices things like this when it came to Dick, though his gaze is still cooly fixated on the way Kingsly casually chatters away at a colleague whilst letting his hands wander. Dick can tell he kind of wants to break them. He smoothly slides himself from the lap of the party in question, attaching himself neutrally to his arm instead--he gives Ric an easy smile even as he verbally bats off Kingsly’s confused protests.

_It’s okay._

And Ric’s hackles slowly unraise but Dick reaches over and grips his hand to give it a soft squeeze: _It’s okay._

“Hey, Rickie,” Dick slides in close as he watches the mystery man from afar and the tycoon he’s trapping turn his attentions elsewhere.

“What.” Gruff, short, to the point--but Ric’s always been that way, hasn’t he? 

“I want that one.”

Dick’s voice is so direct, so serious, it makes Ric blink in surprise, “That’s the new casino owner.”

“I know.”

“He took _Cobblepot’s_ place.” Ric reiterates, with an obvious double meaning to his words.

“ _Mmm._ I do like a self-driven entrepreneur--an opportunist, you might say.”

“Don’t _wink at me,_ you insatiable harpy, this is a _terrible_ idea.”

And Dick shoots him a winning smile, “--But I’ve never led us astray. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

He takes Ric’s lack of answer as a victory, what follows after a beat is just the cherry on top.

“... Well. He _is_ our type.”

Their ‘date’ returns, Dick latches onto his arm and ups the charm, falling back into a familiar mask of sweetness and oozing honeycombs. Dick bites his lip in just the right way, and looks up at his newest squeeze through his lashes with his best _pleading_ expression.

“Tell me about this new blood running the casino.” And Kingsly melts just like putty between his fingers, all Ric does is roll his eyes, taking a large swig of his wine. 

Jason Todd, Dick soon decides after no more than several sentences from a disgruntled Kingsley, is an interesting sort. 

◇◇◇

  
Getting rid of Cobblepot had been the _easy_ part. Everything that came after was an exercise in both endurance and brutal efficiency.

Jason Todd has been _very_ busy. 

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of--he’s killed, beaten, tortured, he’s had conversations with the kind of trash he’d normally want nothing to do with outside of ending them execution-style, with a single bullet to the back of the skull.

(He likes to read. He reads a lot still he’s got several bookshelves filled to the brim with well-loved novels in a personal Safehouse somewhere to prove it. Again in another life, he might be on a college campus right this moment, studying things like the great American classics or Philosophy.

But, that is not Jason’s life.)

But what _is_ Jason's life, right this moment? Prepping for the upcoming night—his debut as the Ice Lounge’s new owner. Through spending months upon months of endless work, gaining favor, stomping out the competition, and exercising some downright aggressively cutthroat business tactics, Jason’s finally placed himself comfortably at the top of an empire. 

Not everyone fell in line at first--but that hadn’t lasted long. As per mentioned, Jason wracked up a _lot_ of favors, had dug up enough dirt on the old powers’ associates to make every last one of them _sweat_ , just like the dutiful little former informant he used to be as that scruffy fourteen-year-old clawing his way up from being a lowly drug runner. He went out like a scraggly street rat but he returned as a prince, taking Gotham’s seedy underground by storm. 

(Everyone’s got bones, after all. It was just a matter of digging them up and dragging them into the limelight.)

The Ice Lounge is booming with Gothamite bluebloods, out of town investors, and many, many unfamiliar faces eager to gain the favor of the man who came squirming out from under the Penguin’s heel. Tonight, in particular, is a nice night. Everything is running smoothly, no large guests to impress, no alliances to keep civil--so, Jason slips away, at least mildly sick of playing nice with all of Gotham’s rich socialites.

What happens next—whilst Jason is out on the lower casino terrace overlooking Gotham bay—is both _painfully,_ cliche and yet not in the slightest. He catches sight of two unfamiliar faces from afar, and he nearly drops the cigarette he’s nursing, right over the balcony. 

Two blue-eyed beauties with gazes that promise nothing but trouble are walking his floor.

One is dressed head to toe in navy cobalt and sheer with a smile he can see even from afar, he’s hanging off the arm of a less important businessman Jason remembers from his guest list. _His collar is split all the way down to his navel, Jason can see miles and miles of golden skin even this far away and God save him he’d give anything just for a_ **taste**.

The other beauty is not the type to hang off of anyone’s arm, Jason can already tell this right off. He’s sprawled out on one of the couches, an air of aloof disinterest radiating from him in waves. Those long limbs are spread wide, with next to no concern for whoever might like a chance to sit—the man wears his confidence with the type of conviction that sort of makes Jason want to lower to his knees. This one is dressed head to toe in tight-fitting black leather—he’s not wearing a shirt as much as he’s in a _vest,_ the vee he has on underneath has such a low dip Jason’s is convinced it’s _gotta_ constitute as some flavor of public indecency. 

_Oh, Jesus,_ Jason realizes, belatedly, _they’re_ ** _twins._ ** _He may as well give up and toss his hat in the ring now. He’s done for._

A part of Jason admittedly stops working for a good few moments, stuck just _watching_ … observing the way they move from afar. It all makes him feel a bit like a creep. He’s a moth and there’s a pair of twin star flames burning across the floor, pulling him into their orbit with every gesture, every wicked quirk of their lips. 

It’s fit to drive Jason out of his mind.

He’s never wanted anything more in his life. It makes his blood rush, sends a roaring right up to Jason’s ears as he struggles to regain his bearings, but _fuck_. They’re both so damn pretty. He can almost _feel_ the pressure building inside of him, ready to implode but they’re both just _so. damn. pretty._ He’s gonna lose himself.  
  
Something in him snaps with the rising tension when the older businessman they’d arrived with abruptly dips the smiley one in blue to catch him in an abrupt and messy kiss. The sight makes a part of Jason boil far more than it has earned any right to. 

Decision made, Jason viciously snuffs out his cigarette against the marble ledge he’d been leaning against, before flicking the bud right over the edge, his expression is firm and hard. There’s no plan in mind when he whirls around and strides in direction of the dealer’s table across the floor. The twin beauties are gearing up to play Blackjack and _he can work with that_.

It’s like being pulled along by an invisible collar with two of the sweetest devils holding his leash. One devil is ‘Blue’ with a smile that promises honey and traps. One devil is ‘Black’ with a chilling gaze that’s glacial cold and dark as the blackest of ice. 

(Jason’s so lost at this point that it hasn’t even hit him proper yet--the names he’s come up with are at the very least _fitting_ he thinks, not without humor.) 

His legs may as well be on autopilot as they carry him closer to the dealer’s table with quickening strides, teeth _aching_ as they clench at the sight of the man twice the beauty’s age allowing his hand to slip past that sinfully deep v-neck. The one on the couch is frowning in irritation, at something the man says.

Something about the image is _wrong--_ from those foreign groping hands to Blue’s breathless laughs. It pisses him off, he’s not sure _why._ The rigid set of his shoulders combined with the thunderous look on Jason’s face must be more obvious than he thinks, because the people on the floor part for him like the Red Sea, or rather, maybe, they part simply because Jason is the casino owner.

Minor details, really. 

The helpless drop in his chest near knocks him off his feet when it suddenly hits him that Blue’s top is fucking _sheer_ , near translucent at that. _And dammit he’s so gone at this point it’s embarrassing_.

“Mister Kingsly, yes?” And Jason forces past a hardened closed-lipped smile. Black finally rips his anger clouded gaze from his twin, something close to positive interest flashing behind his half-lidded lashes. “Did I see _your_ name on the guest list?” Jason lies through his teeth tossing in a contemplative blink and furrowing his brows. 

Kingsly is a stout unimpressive man no taller than five foot seven, one of those who fell line immediately during Jason’s not-so-friendly takeover--who groveled like a bug when Cobblepot’s empire crumbled. Jason has never found himself fond of bugs. The way the man has his hand rested low on Blue’s waist is still making a part of Jason’s twitch, but Blue has an ever-present, neutral smile on his face. His eyes meet Jason’s, bright with bemused curiosity, as though everything about this confrontation is a lighthearted party game.

“I can’t seem to recall...” Jason trails off sliding his eyes from Kingsly, the dealer, and back to the twins, the feeling in the air is odd like he’s taking an exam. Jason watches the telltale irritated reddening of those ruddy cheeks, not without a cruel sense of satisfaction.“Of course, I’m on the damned guest list, I’m a _Kingsly_!” 

_There it is._

“Kingsly... Kingsly…” Jason makes a show of tutting over the name, before carefully he smooths out his expression, popping up an amused eyebrow. “You know what? I _don’t_ think I saw your name,” his eyes meet with a member of his security staff from across the room, “not at all. In fact, I have a feeling you’ve got a history of marking cards in this establishment, Mister Kingsly.” 

The man sputters in indignation fingers digging into Blue’s waist in his anger, it makes Jason’s teeth grind for a moment, this time Black takes notice from the couch and tilts his head in confusion slowly sitting forward their eyes lock. Jason feels his breath catch in his chest under the full attention of that sharp gaze. 

The moment is short-lived, however, as Blue’s face contorts briefly at the biting grip on his skin, so brief that Jason would’ve missed it if he wasn’t so razer focused on the two of them—Black’s eyes instantly snap from Jason to glare at the worked up man icily. 

It pisses Jason off.

_“Why—I’d!”_

“You’re not helping your case here Mister Kingsly, I don’t remember seeing your name at all,” Jason repeats popping up an eyebrow.

The man sniffs, “I hardly think a _street urchin_ has any right to distinguish whether or not I belong here. At least Cobblepot had some class.” There’s dead stillness in the surrounding area, several games have paused to watch the encounter unfold. The dealer, notably, lets out a soft distressed sound that’s almost a whimper.

Jason rides out the deafening silence, the set of his shoulders going slack for a moment and then before he knows it, he’s laughing--laughing until it feels like his lungs are going to burst until he needs to lean against the table for support. Kingsly has gone pale, Blue looks surprised, Black is giving him that puzzled, wary, look again. Shaking his head, he wipes at his watering eyes and finally lifts his gaze.

Because see, Jason is used to being belittled, he’s been belittled and beaten down his entire life, been called every name in the book. _Hoodrat. Street urchin. Bowry Trash._ Kingsley’s words don’t phase him. But the satisfaction that comes with being the bigger fish for once? _Oh,_ nothing in the world can beat that specific flavor of schadenfreude.

“... _I’m_ … I’m gonna have to ask you to get the hell out of my casino.” Jason continues, leaning forward right into Kingsly’s space with a crooked grin, “--Or not, Mister Kingsley, but hey--that’s your choice.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies several burly men in black strolling up to the dealer’s table—new hires, loyal men, Jason picked up a few at the cage fights last month. “If it's all the same to you, _they_ can see you out instead.” 

Kingsly makes to take an enraged step forward, but a large hand lands soundly on his shoulder. 

“Looks like the boss has taken you off the guest list. —Please vacate the premises.” 

Jason whistles low tapping the black umbrella twice against the marble floor as his smile grows, “Angry people are not always wise, Mister Kinglsey.” A menacing shadow rolls over the man’s back, towering a good foot or so above.

“—Baxter. See the fine gentleman out will you? Be courteous about it.”

“Yessir.”

Then, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere Jason hears a melodious chuckle. It’s so out of place, it leaves him blinking slowly, eyes sliding over to the beauty in blue who’s got both hands covering his mouth looking in the other direction, his shoulders are quaking with barely suppressed amusement. It makes Jason want to return the smile, to kiss over that graceful neck until those low chuckles turn into faint gasps and bitten back moans. 

(He’s fucked to high heaven and he knows it.)

Kingsly’s head snaps upwards to _growl_ , breaking the illusion. “ _What the hell are you laughing at, bitch?_ ”

Jason’s blood boils but those electric blues are _still_ dancing in utter amusement, he can’t even get _angry_ in their presence. “ _You._ I’ve never seen anyone dressed down by a Jane Austen quote before, that’s all.” 

The man’s fingers clench, digging into sheer fabric biting harder into his skin; this time there is no flinch, if only because the wrist is caught abruptly by Black, whom Jason can’t even recall standing from his seat. 

Black, meanwhile, lifts a slow eyebrow, gradually twisting back the wrist until Kingsly’s voice reaches a pained octave, “Call him ‘bitch’ one more time,” he says, blandly as Blue just keeps _smiling,_ and moves to stand by his side, “I’m serious, you’ll make my damn night. I’m bored out of my skull.” 

(The sound of his voice is in a totally different register compared to Blue’s hypnotic melody, low like gravel, even as the stillness of a lake. Jason wants to hear it against his skin, wants that voice to give him orders while he _kneels_.)

“You’re nothing without my money and you damn well know it.” All Black does is scoff, a mean smile splitting his face.

“Got quite the ego there don’t you Jamie—dial it back, will you? You’re sure no Wayne, you’re not even a Drake, you’re a _Kingsly,_ I wouldn’t even write home about you.” 

The business tycoon’s snarl is practically inhuman at that point, _“I’ll make sure you never work in this city again.”_ _  
_  
“Damn good thing we don’t work in this city, then.”

“Baxter.” Jason interrupts, and Kingsley swivels to face him again, eyes wide, furious. “I’m retracting my last statement, strike the ‘courtesy’ part of the memo just toss him out on his ass--a few bruises here and there never killed anyone. His two lovely dates can stay.” And with that, the bouncer lifts the cursing man up by his collar and drags him and his infernal squawking from the main floor, flanked by his other two enforcers.

“You just lost a valuable customer over a few pretty faces,” a voice cuts in, and Jason turns his attention to a pair of dancing electric eyes--they’re so damn intense it ought to be illegal. 

“I see it as gardening,” Jason says, getting twin blinks of confusion for his trouble.

“Gardening?”

“Yes. Gardening—two pretty blossoms like you around an ugly weed like that...? It’s just a crime.” He comments with a roguish grin, upping the natural charm in his cut features.

Blue’s smile drops for a moment, and then after a loaded pause, he bursts into a series of snickers, pressing his face into his rather unimpressed twin’s shoulder.

“Oh, R, I _like_ this one.”

“He’s a mob boss.”

“Allegedly,” Blue corrects, eyes dancing back over to Jason mischievously, who can’t help following the way Blue’s tongue darts out and over his glossed bottom lip. It sends a shudder racing down his spine.

“Allegedly.” Jason agrees, smugly as he watches an exasperated look cross Black’s face for a moment.

“You still sent away our date and ride for the evening, what are you going to do about that?”

Jason swipes a champagne glass from a passing waiter, as he all too casually tips it back, Blue lets out another choked, giddy sound that Jason’s sure is making fun of him. But, well, laughter _was_ technically still positive, right?

_Right._

“--How about a game of Blackjack, to make it up for scaring off your date, yeah?” Jason says before he can think better of it, “This _is_ a casino, after all. Let’s see how much you can win off’a the owner and I’ll add you both to the guest list. Free of charge.”

Blue cocks his head, it reminds Jason of a bird, but there’s something sharp in those eyes that makes a part of Jason _pause_ , makes every last one of his fantasies realign themselves. _Maneaters, hustlers—the both of them._ “Oh, yeah? Are we playing for keeps?” Blue breathes, tone light as a feather despite the cool calculation in his gaze, everything inside Jason is screaming to run away. A warning tingle shoots down his spine, raises the hairs on his nape—still, Jason’s challenging smirk stretches wider. 

“ _Oh, yeah._ ”

For the first time, he watches Black’s face perk up as he promptly leans heavily into Dick’s side. “Betting caps or limits?” And it finally hits Jason like a freight train as he watches twin sets of electric blue light up in unison, tension rising in the air coiling tight as a spring. 

_Adrenaline chasers._

“None.” Jason forces himself to respond, a heat creeping up to his face as his eyes drift down to Blue’s rather suggestive top again. Winner buys the losers drinks.” Ric is leaning forward against the dealer’s table, a shark-like grin on his face, he’s stapling his fingers. It’s the most Jason’s seen him emote all night. It makes his stomach do an odd flip. 

“And reaps the rewards?” Dick insists after a loaded pause. 

“And reaps the rewards.” Jason concedes with a wry smile. 

◇

◇

◇

  
The game isn’t going in Jason’s favor.

Nonetheless, Jason finds himself stupidly charmed by the stunning blue-eyed beaus with the same face who have the sheer amount of unparalleled _nerve_ it must take to _count cards_ at his table. 

One devil in blue, the other devil in black—his mind is still screaming, hollering that they’ll be the death of him—he’ll slash himself pressing against their diamond-sharp edges, impale himself on their platinum spikes. _And fuck, Jason has never wanted for anything more in his life._

Jason’s eyes linger for the nth time on those exposed miles of tanned skin, on those full pink lips, those laughing eyes that drive him downright _feral_. A part of his psyche struggles with the urge to strip out of his suit jacket just to wrap Blue away from prying eyes, selfishly, so no one else on the floor would have the chance to gawk. The uncontrollable drive boils his blood, _pisses him off_ , Jason brings himself back to reality with a flush when his and Black’s eyes meet.

Blue has also noticed his staring this time, unfortunately, and those entrancing lips tug upwards into a smirk that promises nothing but hell to pay. Jason tries to swallow as he feels his blood rushing again, but his throat has dried itself out.

 _It’s steaming in here with all these people. It’s summer in Gotham—and_ **_no,_ ** _v-necks and open dress shirts **do not**_ _count as public indecency, Todd. Down boy._

“So, which one of you is it.” The dealer starts in surprise, lifting her eyes to dart between the three players nervously.

Both look to him in surprise. Blue has a smile like sunshine, eyes crinkling at their edges in an unspoken secret. Jason greedily drinks in his slender muscle, the slight curve of his waist, the way those hips sway in a languid motion as he straightens out of his lean against the table. The beau in black, in contrast, spares him a twisting of his lips that could be either a smile or a grimace, stepping pointedly in front of Blue with a clear purpose--protective, Jason notes, like with Kingsly. 

“Whatever do you mean, _Mister Todd_?”

 _The way he says his name makes Jason feel dirty._ “You two are counting cards.” It’s a smart strategy they’ve been using, one twin bets low and safe, the other bets high and confident, then like shuffling a deck, they switch who’s betting high and lows then adjust as the hand allows. Clever. A part of Jason wonders if either is good at chess.

“Are we?” inquires Blue, who’s been whispering into his brother’s ear for the past five or so hands, in front of Jason’s face, perching his chin on said twin’s shoulder with an easy grin. Jason still can’t bring himself to so much as swallow.

“You are. Because _I’ve_ been keeping track, and one of you is better than me—I’m just not sure who yet.” Jason comments, blandly, leaning forward on the dealer's table. Black’s gaze instantly darkens as he shifts his stance, obviously sizing Jason up, eyes flickering back to his brother who’s smile hasn’t dropped once. 

Jason would bet good money on ‘Blue’ being the card counter, there’s something in those mischievous eyes that just piques his bullshit meter. Not a cheating type, but a clever type. He gets the feeling that he’s awful good at deflecting in conversation. 

“Kicking us out, already?” Jason’s eyes return to the brother in black, he arches an eyebrow.

“Technically, it’s perfectly legal.” 

“It’s still against casino etiquette though, isn’t it? If you catch us, that is.” Black lifts his head, Jason can’t pin down how old he is, in his twenties definitely—at least around his age or older. He’s got a cocky glint sparkling in his eyes that still does a series of _things_ to Jason’s gut that he doesn’t have the presence of mind to even unpack right now. “You tossed out the business tycoon we came with.”

“I _own_ the casino,” he says, instead of dwelling further, “whether I decide to kick you out or not is my choice, isn’t it?” The two brothers are eerily in sync, two sets of brows furrow, two heads cock in bemusement—Black is suspicious, Blue is _curious_.

Blue is curious enough, in fact, to slide out from behind his brother’s back and make his way around the table to appraise Jason up close and personal. Black is tense now, out of the corner of his eye, Jason can see the gritted tick in his jawline.

He looks down at the card counter in question, who beams at him brilliantly in response. Jason finds he likes how that blue sheer shimmers in the dim casino lighting. The opened vee only serves to draw even further attention to a golden collar line and a hint of a well-defined chest. Jason feels mortified by how disappointed he is he can’t see his nipples in full. A large part of him just wants to just shuck the whole thing off of him, just go to town worshiping that chest and— _Down boy._

“Not too many people can keep up with _me,_ I wouldn’t feel too bad about it,” Blue says with an easy hum.

Jason’s lips quirk in grim amusement, “So it _was_ you counting cards, I take it?”

“I’m better at doing it all in here, I’m good at probability,” he says, tapping his temple, intense blues boring into Jason’s and _god_ Jason thinks he’d get on his knees for both of them, “Ric over here’s got a good poker face. But he can do it too if he wants.”

The name hits him like a bucket filled with ice water _Ric. R is short for ‘Ric’._ The way his heart sings is damn embarrassing is what it is. 

“Why do I feel like you’re normally more subtle than going from five dollars to $500? I thought you two were just lucky up till that point. I never would’ve caught the pattern” Jason grips the edge of the dealer's table on either side, easily boxing the shorter man in. Blue smiles serenely.

“It got your attention, didn’t it? Plus I won the hand!” And Jason doesn’t have a comeback for _that_ , he just stills and blinks, mouth opening and closing for a few moments before the other twin opts to cut in.

“Dick, we need to get going anyways. He doesn’t seem interested, anyways if he still hasn’t gotten a clue.” And Blue—no, _Dick_ glances over at his brother with a pout that makes Jason want to bite his lips until they’re swollen red. The burning urge makes something in his stomach tighten.

“ _C’mon,_ I wanted to play Blackjack longer, it’s not like we’re being kicked out.” Dick dunks out from between his arms and drapes himself over his brother, making faces at him. And to his credit, Black doesn’t so much as flinch a muscle at the added weight. Neither of them are small or even slight guys, it’s a little impressive if Jason’s being honest with himself. Dick's eyes are dancing as they slide over to Jason, “I promise we’ll keep our bets low, handsome.”

Black— _Ric_ turns to study Jason again, eyes cataloging his pressed black and maroon three-piece suit, nose twitching in irritation at the scent of his cologne, he inclines his head again. “Why?” He suddenly asks, and its Jason’s turn to blink. “Why not make us back off? You are the owner after all.”

“Well, you two certainly ain’t an _eyesore_ , if you get what I’m saying.” 

“Backhanded compliments will get you nowhere,” Dick pipes up with a sly grin.

“Really now?”

“Really.” Ric cuts back in flatly, and Jason is hit with a distinct sense of whiplash, “Manners, however, will take you _everywhere_ though, Casanova.” 

“Oh please, I wouldn’t know a 'civilized manner’ if it reeled up from hell like a serpent and bit me right in the crotch.” Jason says, grinning slightly, “I’m a street rat, remember?”

Dick pouts, “I ought to wash your mouth out with soap, it's so dirty, handsome.”

“Your fingers in my mouth? Sounds like an evening.” 

He feels like an imposter, putting on a bad class act as he wraps an arm around Dick’s shoulders and reels him in close. But… the admittedly clumsy line earns Jason the most winning smile, so obviously he must be doing something right.

“Sweet Talker,” Dick hums, playfully, “you’re contradicting yourself, didn’t you say you were an uncivilized street rat?”

“A street rat with a set of working eyes.” 

Ric watches the proceedings with a blasé look on his face, “Are we getting on with the game or not?”

“Patience is a _virtue_ , Rickie.” Dick chirps right back, “You never play the long game. Pa always used to say you play cards too hard and too fast.”

“I think _you_ just don’t know when to fold.” 

Dick just makes a noncommittal sound, and presses a sloppy kiss to Ric’s cheek, much to the other man’s chagrin, “Good thing I’ve got you here to tell me, then.”

The twins turn out to be twenty-eight.

At some point, they'd moved to into one of the casino’s private suites with some alcohol to keep chatting; Jason watches the way Ric’s Adam’s apple bobs with every sip of his champagne. They're all on the bed; the sheets are satin white, the entire setup reminds Jason of a really bad porno. They've been talking for hours, about nothing and everything at once and Jason still doesn't know a damn thing about either of them, aside from—oddly enough—their ages. 

“ _No way_ you’re both pushing thirty.”

Dick pouts, and Jason’s brain about short circuits because _hell_ his lips are so full it’s borderline criminal. “ _Rude._ I’ve been twenty-one for the past seven years, Mister Todd.” They both take their seats on either of his sides—Jason feels dizzy even if he hasn’t had much more than a few sips of white wine to drink tonight.

“It’s not nice to ask for a lady’s age anyway, don’t you know that, Mister Todd? Who taught you your manners?” Ric’s lips stretch into a suggestive grin, “Besides, you’ve been eyeing us both up all night, I’m willing to bet that age hasn’t got shit to do with it.”

“... Unless you’re into that, I mean.” Dick pipes up, thoughtfully.

Jason’s cheeks visibly redden, “Wha—”

“Do you prefer _older men,_ Mister Todd?” A hand finds its way into his tie, reeling him in close as Ric bats his unfairly full raven eyelashes at him and Dick lets out a melodious laugh from where he’s seated on Jason’s right. It reminds Jason of windchimes. 

“You’re awful young to own a casino, Mister Todd.”

A pit opens upright in his gut--his brain registers that Dick has a subtle sheen of gloss on his lips, as close as he is. It makes him wanna mess it up and bite them raw. “I’m… twenty-two.” He lies. He’s twenty for another six months.

The two share a look at each other, a pair of utterly _wicked_ expressions on their faces that would make Jason’s knees go weak if he were standing “My, my, my, that _is_ young. Just hardly a year above the drinking and gambling age. Dare I say--it's almost _unrealistic._ ”

Jason grits his jaw as elegant fingers trail to his chest, smartly unknotting his tie, he’s not sure who’s fingers they are. “He’s so _cute._ Stiff like nothing else though, what do you say we help him loosen up, Rickie?”

Ric inclines his head consideringly, those sharp blues feel like they’re stripping Jason down bare in the worst-best of ways. “He could use some loosening up, I haven’t gotten much lately anyway.”

“What about that bartender back in ‘Haven last week?”

“She was a beauty, sweet as pie, but sometimes I want something with a little... spice.” Ric licks his lips.

“Oh, I know what you mean! His jawline is gonna _kill me,_ Ric, don’t even get me started on those biceps…”

It's around then when it hits Jason that he is, in fact, in a _terrible porno._

 _“Fuck_.” he just mutters in something he refuses to call a whimper, eyes darting between the two as Ric leans in close and Dick’s hands continue to wander--his brain can’t muster the effort to pick one to hone in on. 

Dick grins, “We’ve been _trying_ since the dealer’s table but you’re making it _really_ _hard,_ Mister Todd. I was starting to think you didn’t like us.”

“... ‘Us’?”

Both brothers look back, meeting each other's eyes in a silent exchange, it makes Jason feel left out of the loop. “We’re a two for one deal,” Ric starts.

“—Buy one get one free!” Dick finishes with an ecstatic beam and a saucy wink. 

Jason blinks in confusion, brain racing with all the implications of… that, “Uh are you guys, you know, _okay_ with that, or...?”

Ric grins with all his teeth, Jason kind of feels like he’s going to be devoured if he’s not careful. _The realization most definitely should not cross all of his wires in all of the wrong and oh, so, right ways that it does._

“That seems like it’s an _‘us problem’_ , Mister Todd. Nothing to worry your pretty face about.” That low voice shakes him to his very core, something inside Jason goes slack as two sets of hands work on undoing his vest and shedding his suit layer by meticulous layer. Smooth palms slowly ride up his dress shirt and Jason’s eyes flicker down to spy Dick’s playful smirk. Jason bites his lip, it feels a lot like ‘surrender’. 

“Jason.” He mutters as Ric presses, warm and solid and all the right places up against the length of his spine, “...Call me Jason.” His lip ticks up the humor behind his next statement isn’t lost on him, “Mister Todd was my father.”

Dick’s smile grows, he presses forward until his lips are just brushing Jason’s, “ _Everyone_ knows your name, Mister Todd,” those laughing blues crinkle up at their edges, Jason feels his heart skip several beats. “you’ve really made something of yourself! But I’m flattered you’re giving us permission.”

Ric meanwhile, exhales against the back of his nape, “Jason… _Jason, Jason—_ like the Argonauts’. It suits you.” Jason thinks he lets out another sound, he hopes it doesn’t sound too pitiful, but he feels a smile bloom against his skin, so he's doing alright so far he thinks. 

Lithe fingers easily pop the buttons open of his dress shirt, Jason inhales, “I…”

That smile is blinding, and so terribly amused it makes him _weak_. “You?”

Anxiously, Jason glances away wetting his lips, “Is it really okay... to touch, I mean?” The words feel silly when they leave his lips—this all feels just a touch too good to be true is all. Then again, good things always make him nervous. 

Both fall silent for a dizzying moment, their heated touches even pausing, Jason wonders what he’s said wrong. 

“Oh _sweetheart_ ,” Dick coos, pressing a warm, affectionate hand up through Jason’s bangs, “you’re so good.” Then he climbs into Jason’s lap and does something with his hips that makes him _keen_. 

“How about you let the two of us take you apart tonight?”

Ric’s hands trail their way down Jason’s now bare chest, he’s silent almost grimly so, but Jason can feel every ragged breath against his skin, his hips _jump_ as nails skim his sides leaving red lines in their wake. “ _Oh hell._ You’re something else.” Ric groans lowly, “It’s like you’re carved straight out of marble.”

Ric’s touch is universes away from Dick’s; for one, his hands are calloused and scarred, much like Jason’s, brawler’s hands--maybe. Where Dick is light and fleeting, Ric is rough and intense, all biting nails and pint-up exhales.

“Impatient,” Dick chides at his twin as he _presses_ forward mouthing against the side of Jason’s pulse. 

“I’m not impatient, you’re just too slow.” Ric drags his teeth against the back of Jason’s nap, “your foreplay takes _forever._ ”

Dick snorts, “It’s called being an attentive lover, try it sometime, pillow princess.”

Ric scoffs, sinuously rolling his hips against from where he’s plastered against Jason’s back, “ _Liar, liar,_ ” he half sings against Jason’s skin, sparking a shudder, “you’re just a tease.”

 _These two are going to be the death of him_. Jason knows this, instinctively, as Dick peppers kisses down his open chest, leaving playful bite marks in his wake. He shouldn’t find the absentminded bickering between them as hot as he does, he thinks, flippant and distracted, like he’s an afterthought.

(They were going to shoot him dead and Jason would happily give them both the pistol.)

 _“Fuck.”_ Jason breathes again, as Dick’s hand dips lower, unbuckling his belt, eyes ever playful and dancing.

“Hush, we’re trying our best baby boy,” the name cooed against his skin leaves him frayed at his very edges, “Like I told Rickie, patience is a virtue.” 

Jason swallows thickly.

Dick uses a hand to press Jason down the rest of the way onto the bed--a California King, most expensive suite in the casino. Jason almost misses the warmth when Ric finally slides out from behind his back, weaving around Dick with mischievous eyes. “He already looks like he’s going to combust, Dickie.” 

Dick hums once again, tongue sensually trailing the length of his bottom lip, “It’s alright if he’s a quick shot, that just makes things more fun!”

That gets an eyebrow arch, “How so?”

“They’re cute when they’re sobbing.” Dick hums, lifting Jason’s chin with a curious finger.

Ric’s eyes lid and his gaze darkens as he takes in Jason’s carefully controlled breathing and his stubbornly focused eyes. “ _Oh…_ I like that idea.”

“Switch with me, will you? I need to prep a little—besides, I _think_ I brought a few condoms with me tonight incase Kingsley decided he wanted another taste.” Jason stiffens at the implications that raises. He suddenly, irrationally, wishes he’d broken the tycoon’s _stupid fucking neck_ instead of leaving it at tossing him out of the casino.

Ric blinks, as Dick slides off Jason’s lap. “You sure about that?”

Dick nods, pulling out a few packets of lube from his back pocket, “Mmhm. Just keep him busy, we can take turns.”

Jason finally finds his words as he tries to prop himself up, “Take _turns?_ ” The words feel distant, they parch his throat. 

Ric grins wickedly as he presses Jason right back onto the bed, taking his brother’s place. Unlike Dick, he doesn’t waste time on the preamble, his hips cant forward followed with a near sinuous grind, Jason tosses his head back with a strangled sound. It makes Ric coo. “C’mon, no need to be shy. What were you expecting taking both of us up here at once?” The way Ric’s hips gyrate against his like they’ve got a damn mission in mind, leaves Jason’s mouth falling open. He doesn’t know where to put his hands so he settles on gripping those firm, ever-shifting thighs. He doesn’t know where to look, so he focuses on Ric’s smug half-smile and the confidence radiating off him in waves.

It’s magnetic. It’s fit to drive him crazy. Jason lets out a sharp hiss from under his breath as his erection only seems to harden in his briefs. His fingers tighten around those shapely thighs, a part of Jason hopes he leaves fingerprints in his wake, his jawline clenches as he tries to ground himself. _( **Control**. Down boy.) _

“Oh, _baby_ , loosen up will you?” Ric breathes out as he’s still moving, sinuous and purposeful as Jason’s eyes rake over his form, “—The way you’re acting it’s like no one’s ever touched you like this before,” he murmurs, fingers trailing Jason’s chest, “your reactions are so…”

Ric blinks once, then twice, Jason takes the moment to draw in a deep breath, “So...” his voice teeters off, expression turning more thoughtful. His hips still, Jason swallows down a panting whine at the sudden loss of friction, and Ric finally sits back on the balls of his feet, brows furrowed in deepening confusion, Jason can’t even remember him losing his shoes. 

“Rickie…? What’s the matter?” Dick’s head appears over his twin’s shoulder, seemingly out of nowhere, cutting through the foggy haze that’d taken over Jason’s senses.

Ric pays him no mind, eyes razer focused on Jason, “... You ever done this before handsome?”

_Jason lies without—_

“Don’t lie to me like you did about your age earlier, darling. I’ll be _real_ upset if you do, even if this is a onetime thing.”

Jason feels the blood rush to his face so quickly it gives him another bad case of vertigo, his eyes flicker away as a tight knot of shame settles in his gut. The silence hangs in the air, heavy and damning, Dick’s eyes grow wide like saucers at Ric’s rather blunt statement.

“… So, what of it? Never had the chance in my teens, a’right?” The silence that follows about makes him want to crawl under a rock. 

_(They’ll laugh at him, they’ll leave—god, fuck his reputation, fuck everything else, he just hopes they don’t_ **_leave_ ** _.)_

“Oh.” Dick pipes up after another tense silence and a slow blink, “... Okay, I can work with that.” He says, and Jason feels his heart stall. “Ric,” he says, with enough authority to make Ric’s muscles visibly lock up, and leave shudder racing down Jason’s spine.

“My turn.” 

It’s not a question, nor is it a statement. It’s an order, and it’s like watching a switch flip in the other twin's brain, as he just stares silently at Dick for another beat. Then, Ric crinkles his nose in some sort of way, but slips out of Jason’s lap without pause, sitting back on his haunches, “Mm, so you’re going first?”  
  
“You’re a little too intense for a rookie, baby bro—I'm easier, more softball you know?”

Ric’s eyes roll as he settles, lazily unzipping the leather pants Jason swears he’d _have_ to have painted on tonight. “You’re such a romantic.”  
  
Dick scatters a line of butterfly kisses down Jason’s chest, murmuring against his skin, “One of us has to be.” 

Jason bites into his bottom lip as slender fingers trail their way down past his navel slipping into maroon briefs, he watches Dick shudder, “Wow, big boy down there aren’t you?” His smile is lopsided and amused as he teases Jason’s cockhead, “You’re already rock hard for us and we haven’t even gotten _started_ yet, babe.”

Dick continues at a steady pace, Jason’s breath comes out in increasingly labored gasps, already worked up from Ric’s earlier grinding.

“I’m almost flattered, it’s always nice to feel wanted—don’t you agree?”

Jason reaches out a hand and grips one of Dick’s wrists. Dick pauses, looking up at him from beneath his lashes. He’s pretty. Too pretty it seems. And then he has the nerve to _smile_ and it’s like whatever words Jason planned on saying just die on his tongue right then and there.

“Let’s just start out slow.”

And damn his Irish roots straight to hell, Jason’s face flushes, blotchy and obvious immediately, he can feel it creeping down his neck like a plague. “I’m a fast learner--” he tries, but Dick presses a finger to his lips with a wordless hush, his eyes dancing in amusement.

_“Shh.”_

Jason swallows down his protest, his toes curl at the way Dick beams at him.

“Maybe, _I_ want to take it slow.” Jason’s head falls back against the pillow as Dick does a flicking motion with his wrist that almost makes him convert to Catholicism on the spot. 

“Are you a screamer? I _love_ screamers, especially when they’re inside me. It’s kind of an ego booster, you know?” Dick continues, conversationally while Ric presses back Jason’s bangs holding his head in place against the pillow; Jason, not for the first time tonight, wonders which twin was the ‘nice one’ here, exactly? 

But still—either way he’s feeling _incredible_.

“ _Please—_ ”

“Patience,” And Dick presses a kiss to his jawline, then his earlobe, then the corner of his mouth and his collarbone—Jason lets out a low groan, as he finds his lips, jolting at the gentle but demanding nip that soon follows. His fingers feel large and clumsy when they fumble to rest on Dick’s bare waist, Dick lets out an airy laugh against Jason’s cheek, allowing his hands to explore. Jason’s captivated, he’s never been so captivated by anyone in his life.

It doesn’t register that he hasn’t exhaled until Dick pulls back out of breath, with slightly darkened cheeks and Jason finally feels his heart trying to leap out of his throat.

“Oh fuck—” Dick breathes, eyes lidding as he swipes a thumb over Jason’s wet cockhead. “ _Get in me._ ”

Ric scoffs, “You’re such a--”

“Lube, Rickie,” Dick says using that same tone of voice again. His eyes don’t leave Jason’s as he removes one of his hands from his side and lifts it until he’s holding it against his cheek. “I’m going to take you apart. Thread. By. Thread. Inch by inch, pup.” He punctuates each comment when a sensual roll of his hips. “And you’re gonna sing my praises for it.”

“If I’d known kissing would get me that far—I’d have dipped you after you kicked my ass at Blackjack.”

Dick groans slumping back suddenly, chest heaving--Jason’s too distracted for a moment watching the way miles upon miles of golden skin twitch and tremble, eyes following the bead of sweat that slides down the divet in the middle of the other’s chest. It takes Dick leaning back fully against Ric, until it clicks in Jason’s brain that Ric’s wrist is _moving_ , fingers pistoning hard and fast as Dick gasps and presses his face into the side of his twin's neck. Jason’s nails dig into toned thighs as they rock and squirm in his lap.

“ _Ric--_ ” Dick bites down into the other’s collar bone wordlessly tensing up as his toes curl.

“I’m just helping out,” Ric says casual as can be, curling his fingers in a way that drags the most enticing sound from Dick’s lips again--Jason can’t help following the perfect way his back arches forward. He thinks he might actually pass out.

“Hell,” he breathes out in awe, "you two are just pretty as a picture, ain’t you?" His fingers hesitate before he gives Dick’s thighs a more confident squeeze.

Ric hums, Dick muffles his broken groans against his pulse, “Course we’re pretty, how else would we survive if we weren’t?”  
  
“—I’d protect you.” Jason blurts out before he can think about something more clever to say.

Ric eyes him lazily, Dick turns his head from where it’s buried into his twin’s shoulder, even out of breath with sweat caked bangs and unfocused eyes--he looks amused. “Dangerous words... for an alleged crime lord, Mister Todd. At the end of the day, we’re just two strays in your crosshairs, ya’know?”

“With expensive hobbies.” Ric tacks on with a scoff, "Not many people could afford us.” 

Jason shrugs helplessly, “I _am_ well-known for my perseverance. Some people might even call me stubborn.”

Ric’s smile is sharp as it is amused. “Oh yeah…? Lucky you--we tend to gravitate towards ‘stubborn’. I personally find it kind of sexy, adds an edge to things in the bedroom, you know--”

“--We’re getting off-topic.” Dick cuts in, lips bitten raw as he shoots Ric a bit of a glare. His tone is noticeably strained now, pulled taut like a bowstring, "I know what you're doing."

Ric gives him an utterly serene smile, arching an eyebrow, “I thought you _wanted_ to take things slow,” his tone sounds mocking, "'I thought that, quote: 'Patience is a virtue', big bro."

“ _Not_ what I meant and you know it.” Ric abruptly slips his fingers out of Dick who lets out a soft hiss in response. It’s like watching the bickerings of an old married couple--Jason’s not sure if it’s more or less weird with the knowledge that the two of them are twins. 

Then again, considering that he’s fucking both of them tonight, it doesn’t seem like something he should be complaining about.

Lost in his musings, Jason almost misses Dick sliding off his briefs while Ric rips open a condom package with his teeth. Somehow he’s not shocked by how easily they bounce off of each other in the bedroom considering how the two of them flirt. Dick, meanwhile, lets out a pleasant sound, as he rolls on the condom bracing a hand against his chest. “ _Loosen up._ ” He gently minds, as he slicks up Jason’s cock with leftover lube. 

Dick’s voice washes over him like a calming oasis, taking every last one of his lingering nerves with it--Dick must see it too, because he shoots Jason a winning smile, “There we go, isn’t it better when you loosen up?” 

And he slowly starts to _sink_ , hand holding the base of Jason’s cock steady as he keeps eye contact all the way down, it’s fit to kill him. These two are going to kill him ten times over. What’s probably no more than several seconds feels like an eternity. By the time Dick seats himself fully, trimmers traveling up and down his spine as he just stalls in Jason’s lap for a moment, walls clenching and unclenching around him. 

“ _Oh, hell_ …”

The words leave his lips at the same time they leave Dick’s and they lock eyes for a moment. Dick’s smile only seems to grow before he grinds down on Jason’s cock, seeming to relish in the way Jason tosses his head back and surrenders. “How ya’feeling, puppy?” He whispers, sweet as anything as he cants his hips up and down. 

Jason can see all of him, from the way his face heats the harder he rocks his hips, to the way his skin glistens in the dimly lit room as beads of sweat build on his form.

“Hope you feel good as I do, babe—because _fuck_ , you’re even bigger than I hoped you’d be.” Dick exhales as he starts to _touch_ , palms sliding reverently along Jason’s bare chest, “--Not a soft spot on you, yeah? Like Ric said—” His eyes are glazed over as he bothers his lip, “Bet you could pin me down and leave me a mess, with all that body mass...”

“Never done this before,” Jason grunts out, mentally re-centering himself as Dick’s hips work against him fast and hard, driving him closer and closer to insanity with every movement of those powerful hips. It’s too much, _not enough—_ he needs to focus, _he needs to let go_.

“Just… Just go with the flow, you’re doing great.” Dick mutters as his head lolls, gasping as he finds an enticing angle. 

He’s chatty in bed, Jason quickly finds, the type to babble off in between bitten back gasps and guttural moans--which would be all well and good if it wasn’t for his _filthy mouth_ . _“I love your mouth, Jay, love it, love your voice, how solid you are, your cock...” “Harder, yes, right there, just like that--”_

_Down boy. Sit. Stay._

(If he messes up they won’t come back and _fuck him_ if in this moment, Jason doesn't feel as if he'd do anything just to make them stay.)

And, for a bit, Jason thinks he’s started getting used to Dick Grayson’s filthy praises and sweet sounds… that is until the other surges forward and steals Jason’s everything with the most soul-shaking kiss. It’s one of those kisses that makes him realign his entire damn world view, messy, sloppy, and so utterly intense that Jason can’t focus on anything else.

Jason grips his hair tight and crushes the older man closer like he needs him to _breathe_ (and frighteningly, he finds in this moment, he does). Overwhelmed by the sensations, Dick moans out against his lips in surprised appreciation. Then, hazy eyed and disoriented, Jason abruptly yanks raven hair back like a leash, chest heaving from both the lack of air and the snug warmth surrounding him. He rocks his hips sharply upwards pleased by the surprised moan Dick lets out in response. 

It’s like playing with a toy that squeaks, Jason feels almost bad for the metaphor as he grips Dick’s hips tightly, growing in confidence as he thrusts his hips upwards at the same time that he pulls Dick down. 

The strangled shout the older man lets out is absolutely _incredible._

“ _Yes--!_ There, Jason, yes, oh god--” Jason’s head hits the mattress as Dick’s movements become more erratic until he’s trembling down to the tips of his curling toes. He’s really a picture, Jason can’t help admiring, with the way his perfect muscles twitch in their pleasure and the way Dick's chest heaves with overwhelmed exertion. 

Just then, a hand snakes around from behind Dick to grip his erection--Ric presses up against the length of Dick’s back and whispers something gruff against his ear that leaves Dick’s eyes rolling as he rides Jason fast and hard, simultaneously trying to rock into Ric’s closed fist and also pleasure himself on Jason’s cock.

Jason doesn’t last long at all after that--in fact, things build to a head embarrassingly quickly after that--his vision whites out for a moment, he thinks.

When he comes to again Dick's laid out against his side spent, a series of content shudders running through his form. If he were a cat, Jason thinks, he’d be purring right about now; he’s so blissed out (and he’s stunning, in another life Jason thinks he could fall in love.)

He’s brought back more firmly to the world of the living, however, by a rough, demanding hand, studiously pumping his softening cock back to mast. Jason’s breath hitches as he focuses hazy eyes on Ric, who promptly swallows him down in a single go, his pupils blown wide, Jason realizes with dawning resignation. 

He’s not sure if he’s in heaven or hell as Dick kisses along the side of his neck, feather-soft and affectionate, “Don’t slow down yet, Jay, we haven’t even gotten to the fun parts, yet.”  
  


_Fuck it.  
  
_

Jason turns his head to capture Dick’s lips in another messy kiss, as Ric’s nails drag impatient red lines down his chest. 

(The rest of the night disappears into a pleasure-filled blur—to Jason’s credit he lasts three orgasms before his thinking brain promptly fizzles out.)

◇◇◇

The next morning, Jason wakes up at the crack of dawn, like he always does, the sunlight cascades through the line of awning windows in the suite, lighting the side of his face and beckoning him further into wakefulness, again, as it always does. —However _unlike_ always, when Jason attempts to move, he finds himself anchored to the bed with an almost stubborn death grip. For a moment it leaves him confused, almost disoriented. When he tries to get up again, this time there’s an audible incoherent mumble and a low guttural growl against the back of his neck. 

It is only then when Jason picks up on the fact that warmth wrapped around him is _not, in fact,_ a result of a collection of bunched up throw pillows or a few electric blankets. Initially, when he searches his memory, he’s hit with a fat blank of _zilch_. _Nada._ And that should scare him way more than it does.

He’s alarmingly calm, he thinks, given his current confusion and rising alarm. In fact, when Jason glances down the first face (after a liberal amount of counting down from one to ten several times), he’s hit with a relieving pang of familiarity from last night. With those unfairly full raven lashes and the way they fluttered as shapely hips worked against his as though possessed—he knows if those eyes slide open they’ll be an intense blue. When he tries to shift again that growl from earlier intensifies, this is also, oddly familiar—he remembers it _vividly_ from last night, recalls the bite of blunt nails into the skin of his shoulder blades and that rough, intense, rumble in his ear that ordered him to go faster, _harder_. He’s getting lost in his thoughts when the events from last night _fully_ hit him, just the same way a freight train might.

_Oh._

Jason swallows. “Well shit.” he verbalizes with an exhale, lifting a careful hand to brush back the beauty’s bangs _—Dick, his name was Dick—_ he chews his lip anxiously. This may… complicate things a bit. 

Really, getting a reputation for sleeping around was the absolute _last thing_ Jason needed. It wasn’t exactly the greatest first impression to his business associates, or at least not to the sorts of people Jason wanted to do business with. Shit like this appealed to people like the trash he _tossed out_ last night and—

There’s another exhale against his spine and the feeling of arms tightening around his middle almost possessively, Jason finds himself curling a finger around a lock of curly black hair. All thoughts of anxiety leave him, if only for a moment. Jason wants to brush his lips over Dick’s forehead, so, he does. If only because of how absolutely dead to the world he seems in that moment, he absently runs a soothing thumb over Ric’s knuckles in the meantime, lips quirking as the tight grip slowly relaxes.

(He’s absolutely fucked. He may as well toss his hat in the ring right now.)

Jason takes his time, going over last night, the sun is in his eyes, but, for some reason, he can’t bring himself to move so much as a muscle. He’s much too tangled up in sun-kissed limbs, hell, he’s too _comfortable_ to move even if he had the option. His cheeks warm as he trails a tentative touch along the shape of a hickey he’d left on Dick’s collarbone the night before without looking he knows they go all the way down his back. —He also recalls marking up Ric’s thighs in a similar manner, Jason half-wonders if they’re just as dark as the marks on his twin’s neckline.  
  


A hell of a way to pop his cherry, that’s for sure.  
  


Suddenly, amused electric blues flutter open, followed by an easy smile, Jason quickly snatches his hand away, breaking the gaze with something that’s a mix between anxiety and embarrassment. It’s a bit like getting caught red-handed with his arm elbow-deep in the cookie jar, or, more accurately in this case, a honeypot. 

“Hey, you.” When Dick speaks first voice low and drowsy, it’s a lot like listening to a siren’s song, it makes Jason want to melt into the bedsheets.  
  
He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the words, again, seem to leave him, his teeth abusing the side of his lip. Dick hums a wordless note when he reaches up a hand to cup the side of Jason’s face, smoothing the motion out with his thumb. “That’s no good, I like your pretty mouth. You should treat it nicer, handsome.”

A comparatively cooled touch trails along Jason’s side and he feels a more purposeful exhale against his nape, “I like his mouth too,” Ric says with a yawn, “with practice, I bet he can be _really_ good with his tongue.” The impression of a smile against his shoulder leaves Jason redder than before. 

Dick only laughs that airy laugh of his again, his tenor voice is still husky with lingering sleep, “Cat got your tongue there, handsome? You look fit to combust.”

“--Fine,” Jason says too quickly before catching himself, “I’m _fine_ just… processing.” He rubs over his face with an anxious hand and swallows, “Holy hell. We had sex last night.”

Ric snorts in bemusement as he untangles himself from Jason, propping himself up on his forearms, "Yes? We did. Multiple times in fact, on this bed, against that wall, braced against that window over there, in your expensive bathroom jacuzzi—"  
  
Jason groaned, rolling over onto his back, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow—his ears feel like they’re on fire, “ _Oh God._ ”

“Is this a belated sexuality crisis? Because I gotta say… sorta late for that, buddy.” The brighter of the two clicks his tongue, and props his chin up on a palm, using his free hand to trace slow circles into Jason’s chest—his eyes visibly darken in growing interest as he watches Jason shudder.

“Don’t think about it _too_ hard! Last night was fun, I’d even say Olympic medal-worthy. Though your stamina needs a bit of work, to be honest,” Jason cuts Dick off with a loud, suffering groan.

"I am begging you to leave it at that. I will pay you _money_ to leave it at that."   
  
Dick crinkles his nose. "What? I'm just being honest. I think you did great last night."  
  
"For a virgin." Ric tacks on, unhelpfully.

He shrugs, "For a virgin, yes." 

Jason shifts uncomfortably, peeking over his elbow, “...You know you don’t have to, uh, _lie_ , Jesus. I was fumbling all over the place, I’m honestly surprised you’re still here,” he scrunches up his face, “I’m not gonna send someone after you for saying I suck in bed.”

Dick blinks in genuine surprise at that, eyebrows raising. “Wait a minute, you think… you were bad?” Jason frowns.

“Well… I certainly wasn’t _good._ ”

Ric hrmphs gruffly, Jason can feel his lips moving against his shoulder again, “Seems like you did just fine to me. I got off didn’t I?”

And with those flippant words a second hand buries itself in his dark curls and jerks him around for a deep kiss, something in Jason’s chest _warms._ It simultaneously lasts for far too long and _not long enough_ , it feels like Ric takes his air away when he licks his way into his mouth and plasters himself against Jason’s side.

He doesn’t pull back until Jason is hazy eyed and heaving, while Ric’s face, in contrast, is lighter by the end of it, satisfied, “... Besides, the inexperience has its own charm.” He says, smug as a fox.

Dick’s face screws up, “Rude, _I_ wanted to give him a morning kiss.”

“S’not _my_ fault you’re slow. —Besides, morning kisses are overrated. Morning _breath_ exists, remember?” And Dick responds by sinking down Jason’s chest and making him come undone. 

(They spend the better half of the hour just winding Jason up tighter and tighter, before letting him go like they would a strained rubber band. Dick’s fingers trace every inch of his bare body, quickly becoming newly acquainted in the morning light. Ric drags his nails across his thoroughly marked up chest and sucks him off until his trembling apart at his damn seams.)

The rest of the morning’s pattern goes similarly. By the time they let him up, Jason’s twitchy and more than a little frazzled with Dick’s cooing praises against his skin coupled with the way Ric’s clever fingers massage through his messy bedhead. A daze sweeps over him as they coax him out of bed. It’s like he blinks, and suddenly he’s freshly showered and he’s cooked an entire breakfast; a very needy partner presses against the length of his spine as he goes about doing the dishes after _\--Dick, a part of his mind rumbles, fondly--_ whispering the filthiest promises into the back of his neck. 

Everything after that is a happy, dreamy, blur like he’s walking on air--he blinks again and Jason finds his head rested in a warm lap, and he’s being fed… something, sliced fruit, maybe. ~~When did he even slice _fruit_?~~

“I like this one.” A voice insists, distant but audible, but Jason can pick out a fond coo in the tone as tender fingers run through his hair.

“Mm, I like him too.” The second one says, and calloused fingers lift back Jason’s chin, the ice in those eyes are softer somehow, affectionate. “But let’s wait a bit.”

They’re gone when Jason wakes up again, just like two _very_ nice dreams. But the stinging scratches on his shoulders and the possessive marks littering his skin are there to remind him of that incredible night and the long morning that followed. Now, Jason isn’t one for pining, his life has always been one that’s been more about bad draws than it has anything simple or easy. Good things don’t happen to Jason Todd, good things never stay; so he puts it out of mind, out of thought, and drags himself out of bed the way he always does. 

He spends the day up keeping deals and prepping for a bigger event that night, a gala of sorts, the media would be at this one. 

Thoughts of the twin beaus are subsequently pushed to the back of his mind. Besides, they’re a distraction—and Jason can’t afford distractions, not in his line of work, not with his goals, not with the number of people he commands. They hadn’t even left him a number.

_(A small part of himself that hasn’t forgotten, still remembers that morning, the way their touches felt, the rush of fierce possessiveness that filled him at the sight of his marks etched into their skin in the dawn's light. And Jason wonders if they’ll accept his silent invitation to return again.)_

He doesn’t expect anything to come out of the wish. After all—nothing good ever comes to Jason Todd. 

  
◇

◇

◇

(No more than a week later, Jason quickly learns that twins don’t exactly have a habit of conforming to something as simple and easy as _expectations_. Then again, looking back on that night, Jason's not sure why he'd ever expected anything less.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason adjusts to living with two strays that just refuse to leave him.

♤

The next time Jason Todd sees the Grayson twins it’s like taking a blow from a shotgun to the chest.

It’s a week later to be precise, he’s only just started to fully accept that night as the pleasant dream--he nearly drops his wine glass in shock before quickly excusing himself from the group he’s chatting with. 

Seeing them again takes the breath out of Jason’s lungs, sends a familiar shiver racing down his spine. Then there’s a person blocking his view--a reporter--asking him some sort of question about his charity event but Jason cannot for the life of him figure out if it’s in Arabic, French, English, or whatever, even if he knows all three. Jason bullies and pushes his way across the crowded floor, eyes fixed on a single point.

(Because fuck him sideways, Jason _wasn’t_ dreaming they actually _came back_ , and Blue’s on the floor in a fucking _leotard and fishnets.)_

His treacherous legs bring him right to their sides, just the same as that first night. Dick’s eyes are hypnotic and those fishnet tights he’s wearing under that tight cobalt leotard compliment his natural curves like _whoa._ Jason’s eyes slide over to Ric who inclines his head at him--then it clicks that with the leather crop top he’s in Jason can see his entire midriff, it’s enough to make him feel unsteady.  
  


“You came back.”  
  
  
Ric’s lips uptick into a mischievous smile, despite Jason’s clumsy words, “Yeah. It looks like we did, handsome.”

Dick’s eyes seem to sparkle as he reaches out to lift Jason’s chin with a single finger mirroring that heated night between the three of them in the suite. His eyes seem to laugh in their amusement as they follow the bob of Jason’s Adam’s apple. “How about a dance?”

“With who?” Jason asks jokingly, trying not to think about how weak he already is following such an innocent touch, just the same as a man starved. Dick steps closer as if to test the threads of Jason’s self-control, into his personal space, far closer than Jason usually allows strangers. But there’s just this disarming aura that Dick exudes, a charisma--it naturally puts him off his guard. Dick Grayson’s smile is a different sort of dangerous. 

“Ric hates to dance, why not try a song with me, first?” Dick asks, with a conspiratorial wink and Jason is already gone by the time Dick moves to take his hands warmly in his. It’s hardly a chore to follow Dick to the dancefloor after that, it’s like he blinks and suddenly they’re pressed together, swaying, learning each other’s steps. 

Dick dances beautifully like he’s had lessons--when Jason asks him about it Dick’s bright smile grows thinner, far more elusive and sly than it has any right to be. _“That’s a secret, sweetheart.”_

And he leads Jason into an intense waltz--Dick’s got the most dazzling grin on his face; one that makes Jason want to lay every last material object he owns at the other man’s feet, just to keep it there forever. Jason knows the steps but Dick flows like water and it takes the concentrated effort of instinct, basic dancing lessons, and sheer determination, _not_ to trip over his own two feet when the song picks up along with the pace.   
  
“ _Relax._ ” That melodious voice whispers against his ear before Dick about gives Jason a heart attack by dropping himself into a low dip, chuckling when Jason scrambles to catch the small of his back.

“ _Christ_ , have you gone mental?” Jason lets out a sigh, pulling him in until they’re nose to nose, Dick, the absolute menace, doesn’t even falter.

“C’mon, everyone who’s grown up in Gotham’s at least a little bit mental, Jay.”

Jason blinks, brain coming up short against the equivalent of a wall, “Wait, when did you start calling me--” Dick cuts him off swinging them both with the momentum of their rather informal waltz.

“Dancing’s supposed to be _fun_ , just relax! Didn’t I tell you to loosen up?” And to Jason’s surprise, he feels himself unwinding, there’s something about Dick that’s open, reassuring-- _trustworthy_.

Jason doesn’t trust anyone, the life he lives has just never allowed for a thing so fleeting, but just the same--he’s caught up in Dick’s clever pace and his bright demeanor. “You’re trouble,” Jason says as he allows Dick to spin himself out and melts just a little bit when that gamely smile softens up, just for him.

“And yet you can’t seem to keep away from us, can you--? Just like a needy pup.”  
  
Making a face at the new nickname, Jason reels him in close again. --He’s about to say _something_ , he thinks, maybe something scathing, but he gets caught up again, watching that smile transition into something lopsided and teasing. He forces the lie through his teeth anyway. “I’m not. Don’t get cocky because we’ve… we’ve...”

Dick looks up at him then, coyly through his lashes, Jason promptly loses his train of thought. “You shouldn’t tell lies, Mister Todd. Especially to yourself. Those are the worst kind.” 

Jason’s lips part again, the words stop him short, this time he gets caught up staring at the fading hickey on Dick’s neck--that’s right, it’d only been a week. A feeling like satisfaction curls up inside his gut. 

( _His. His mark. His teeth. His bruises.)_

“We should do this again sometime.” Dick slips out of his grip just like air, interrupting Jason’s thoughts, twirling away and back again on his heels.“Away from the crowds, you know. It could even be romantic, don’t you think?”

Jason nods, dumbly, lost in those thoroughly amused blues. This isn’t even a waltz anymore, whatever they’re doing. They are _sinfully_ close, so close Jason can feel the heat of Dick’s exhale against the crook of his neck.

“I like you quite a lot, Mister Todd. I think I might want to keep you.”   
  
But before Jason can so much as come up with a response to _that_ Dick’s suddenly picked up the pace on their dance, almost vigorous in their shared farce of a waltz--it’d be fun, Jason thinks, if he didn’t have to channel all of his energy into not closing the short distance between their lips. (He holds because he’s nervous, he’s nervous because no one’s never _wanted_ him before, not quite like this.)

He finds himself dizzy, and more than a little frazzled, by the time Dick passes him over to Black _\--Ric_ his brain corrects _\--_ Jason’s confused at first when the other man physically moves his hands into the following position until it clicks.

In the background, Jason thinks he hears a camera shutter but he’s too caught up in how out of this world Ric looks in the light of the dimly lit casino. His eyes are vibrant like his brothers but so much more demanding, bitter like the aftertaste of biting into a bar of dark chocolate.

(He can’t say with certainty that he wouldn’t stick around for the taste.) 

“I wasn’t aware that I was here to dance with a cardboard cutout tonight,” Ric murmurs with a teasing smile.

Jason flushes, indignant, “I’m out of breath, is all, your twinkle-toed brother over there was just… intense.”

Ric shows his teeth as he leads them across the dance floor, his eyes knowing, “Oh, really? So I _don’t_ make you nervous, pup? I’m almost offended.” Jason can’t help the exasperated sigh that leaves him.

“Why do you both call me that?”

Ric shrugs, “Because that’s what you are. You’ll grow into yourself one day, but right now? You’re ‘pup’. Though I can’t promise we’ll ever stop calling you that.”

Jason arches up a fine brow, “That’s an ominous way to put it.” 

“Is it?”

“Absolutely--also you just implied that you’re going to keep coming back.” That’s what mattered most to Jason really, that they weren’t leaving anytime soon. Were they drifters? Regulars? Natives? He never did get a clear answer on that one. 

All Ric does is shrug in response, leading Jason into a more classic ballroom style dance, it’s odd, being led by someone who’s eyes he has to crane his neck down to meet.“Dick likes you. He’s drawn to people with potential.”

“Potential?”

“Well, I guess that’s a weird way to put it. He likes passion, he likes honesty--he likes someone who can rough him up and leave his blood singing.” 

Jason’s arches a skeptical eyebrow, the last part of the statement is downright nonsensical, “... I’m none of those things.”

“Oh babe, that’s part of what makes you honest.” Ric's lips quirk fondly, spinning them across the dancefloor. Jason’s eyes just keep getting drawn back to the way the dim lights of the casino seem to highlight his cheekbones and carved facial features.   
  


“There’s better men out there with traits like those.”  
  


“There are.” Ric agrees.  
  


“So, why me?”  
  


Ric hums, “Call me psychic but I feel that that questions going to get _real_ annoying _real_ quick.”

(In Jason’s defense, it is a very fair and valid question considering he’s being accosted by what he’s pretty sure are the twin incarnations of Adonis himself reborn on planet earth. But then again--he may be a bit biased.)

“--It’s okay, you know, if you prefer Dick.” His voice deceptively stoic, unassuming in its low register, “Everyone does, he’s kind, passionate, charismatic. He attracts trouble sometimes, you see,” Ric pauses, sizing Jason up for a few agonizing moments, “--I worry, sometimes. He lets _a lot_ of people into his orbit, sometimes he attracts bad people into that orbit, too. But you…” 

And he snaps Jason into a twirl before dipping him low, a part of Jason is dizzily impressed by the fact that Ric can toss him around so easily. He’s so close now, that their lips are practically touching. “I actually _like you._ And that is rare.” It’s enough for Jason’s throat to promptly dry itself out.

If Dick is a flowing river, Ric is the wind that pushes and pulls the waves, ever guiding as he weaves Jason across the floor. Jason’s so focused trying to keep up, keeping track of the conversation is no more than an afterthought. “He’s beautiful, don’t you think? The world’s lucky to have him, it makes sense that you’d want him too.”

He places a warm hand at Jason’s waist, “You _like_ him, it’s written all over your face, for what it’s worth, I think he’d like you a lot too.”  
  
Something in Jason’s gut twists at that, it’s in the way Ric phrases a certain line that just leaves him uncertain. He can’t help the protest that leaves his lips: “What do you mean by that?”  
  
Ric gives him a puzzled look as he reels Jason in closer, so they’re chest to chest, “-- _I mean_ , you should take him to bed again, I haven’t seen him this happy in ages, he’s been so down lately. I won’t be offended if you’d like _just_ Dick with you tonight. That’s all.”  
  
Jason frowns, physically halting their dance. The assumptions are just... so damn wrong they shake him to his foundations.  
  
So, at a loss of what else to do, he takes one of Ric’s hands in his, thumbs lightly moving over those calluses that he can still remember clear as a bell from a week prior. If he blinks he can see those rough demanding hands, smoothing over his back, weaving between his thighs—recalling how they’d carded and tugged at his hair, tracing shapes into his chest even after Jason was limp and pliant. And yet, despite what his very presence _does_ to Jason, Ric’s expression still borders on baffled at their sudden halt on the dancefloor, and somehow, that’s what hurts the most.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jason already sees the shields going up, the ice behind those glacial blue eyes--it’s an impressive poker face, really, better than Jason’s even.

“But. You’re beautiful.” Jason blurts out before he can think better of it.  
  
Ric stops, blinking slowly. “What.”

“Gorgeous, you’re _gorgeous_ , I want--” he swallows, dunking his head and frowning in frustration as he scrambles for words he’s not used to needing. (Can order a gang of hundreds and keep them all in line but can’t give a smooth compliment for your life, Todd--ain’t that just poetic irony at its finest.)

“... You want what?”

“Look I _…_ I don’t _know_ what I want.” He growls in frustration, grip squeezing Ric’s hand in his, “But I _do_ know that both of you’ve got your own distinct appeals, is the point I’m getting at here. And it’s _frustrating_ , a’right? Having to listen to you sell yourself short like that--I mean it, you’re _gorgeous_ , absolutely _magnetic_.” Jason says this as evenly and as serious as can be, determined for his words to sink in, “I can’t choose Dick because a choice doesn’t _exist_.”

“I can’t take my eyes off either of you.”

(Ric wasn’t allowed to imply he was lesser just because he smiled a little less and kept his cards closer to his chest. It was just wrong-- _criminal_.)

And Ric stares and stares at him for a long time, as if in a daze, it’s like Jason’s said something outlandish. The entire display makes Jason angry, it makes him want to go out and break every last person that ever made him feel that way.

“... I’m intense, frigid, and an overall unpleasant person to be around.”

Jason hums lifting Ric’s scarred knuckles up to his lips, despite his stomach being pulled every which way and the dizzying feeling of his axis being off-kilter Jason draws in a deep breath and keeps pressing, “That’s for _me_ to decide, don’t you think? And _I’ve_ decided, personally, that I actually like you well enough, Mister Grayson.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, to Jason’s surprise and mortification--laughter follows. It’s bright and _gorgeous_ , it projects just like Dick’s and _they have the same laugh._ It lasts for several glorious moments, long enough that Jason feels his ears start to redden. For once, _Ric’s_ eyes are dancing, there’s a look of genuine amusement in those blues and Jason can’t help thinking, in this moment, if the twins were side by side, he wouldn’t be able to tell Ric apart from his brother if he _wanted_ to. The thought of being the one to put a smile on those faces every day is enough to melt him from the inside out.

He’s dead in the water and he hadn’t even gotten close to shore.

“--Well, _Mister Todd_ , I think that I can safely assume that I’ve come around to liking you _quite a bit_ , too. I might want to keep you.” His voice is warm and breathless, and he looks like he’s _glowing_ just like a flower leaning towards a sunray, again, Jason thinks he could fall in love--in another life maybe, a better one. Where he could give them both nicer things, better things than a bloody crime empire.

“... That’s what Dick said.”

That gets him a snort, and a playful shrug, “Well… we’ve got similar tastes.” And Jason’s utterly _smitten_ with that damn smile, he’d do anything to keep it on Ric’s face, just for a bit longer.

“Hey, let’s play a game,” Ric says abruptly, during a step when their faces are too close and his eyes are far too mischievous. 

Jason responds on autopilot, attention drawn to those full lips, “What kind of game?”

“Let’s flip a coin. Best two out of three.” 

And that just leaves Jason _reeling_ , “No Blackjack, this time?”

A smirk stretches those lips, “If I win, me and Dickie get you to ourselves for another night--if you win, well... dealer’s choice,” Ric gives Jason a wink that steals the air right out of his lungs. “ I won’t even milk you dry this time around. What do you say?”

Jason’s throat feels parched by the time he’s pulled in close once more, tie wrapped around Ric’s sure fist. All he can do is murmur his agreement--really his agreement was always inevitable, refusal hadn’t even crossed his damn mind. Ric drags him along the floor by the tie like a lovesick dog on a leash, all the way out onto one of the few deserted casino terraces. 

Ric slots his form against Jason’s, snug as a missing puzzle piece, and kisses his lips until they’re bitten raw and red. He chuckles, whenever Jason pulls back for air, only to coo and dive right back into to take more, like the greedy creature he is. Jason’s no better, he’s just as intense, just as possessive as he crushes Ric’s body against his, hands continuous in their quest to map out the expanse of Ric’s bareback, trailing along a pliant slender waist. Something in Jason purrs when he realizes he can almost just span the expanse of those athletic sides with his larger hands. Crop tops are a godsend, he decides, watching the way Rick’s bare skin flinches in response to both his touch and the chilly night air.

\--They spend a lot of time just like that, with Ric’s fingers tangled in his hair and Jason trying to catch his breath. Given the chance, he’d make out with Ric Grayson forever, he thinks.

“You’re still messy.” Ric says in between harsh breaths, shucking off Jason’s suit jacket urgently, as he takes out the coin again with a sharp grin, “Let’s just practice a little while longer.” Jason’s head feels fuzzy and warm while Ric’s grip only tightens on his thighs. His eyes are just like his twin’s bright and predatory ~~_carnivores, the both of them._~~

(Jason does not, in fact, win a single one of those coin flips. At first, he’s convinced it’s a weighted coin, well, that is until Dick comes out to join them on the terrace with that brain-melting smile on his face while Ric’s teeth drag along _that_ spot on Jason’s neck, the one that makes him growl, low and feral. He ends up trailing along after them again, pulled right into their pace--and like before Jason makes no effort to even fight against the tide.)

This time around, Jason ends up at back at their motel room, several city blocks down the wrong side of town, somehow it’s more terrifying and disorienting than taking them up to one of the specialty suites in the casino. Because this isn’t just a spur of the moment thing brought on by being just a bit tipsy and reckless--this time Jason’s _all here,_ conscious in his deliberate decision to follow these two twin devils to their seedy Gotham motel room for a bout of equally seedy, messy escapades.

Again, not exactly the kind of reputation Jason wants to cultivate. He already knows what the headlines are going to say tomorrow written by the vultures that make up Gotham’s gossip columns, it preemptively leaves him cringing. He’d gotten off scot-free last time with minimal rumors, but blatantly leaving a gala with two men on his arms was a different story.

But even then, foregoing the future consequences, there’s something about this room, in the here and now, that fascinates Jason, with its crudely stained wallpaper patterns that obviously haven’t been updated since the 60s. The staunch texture of the cheap bed sheets, and the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with stale perfume that makes Jason feel, for lack of a classier term-- _dirty._ He kind of wants to crawl under a rock with how hot and bothered being somewhere _real_ like this makes him. 

(And hell, it’s _nostalgic_ in the worst, best possible way. He breathes in those imperfect scents and decaying plaster of the motel walls, and it almost feels like he’s ‘home’ again.)

Because the Iceberg Lounge never felt ‘real’ did it? Not in all the ways it should when Jason’s so close to reaching his goal--to make something of himself. It’s too sterile, too white, too damn pristine. 

This is the first place he’s been in months where he’s felt _real_. Right here, in this shotty hotel room, with two warm bodies pressing into him from the back and front. Dick for once, is the intense one in his lap this time around, eyes unyielding like if he takes his gaze from Jason’s for even a second he feels he’ll miss something important.

“—I’m going to lay you out and ride you like a bull,” Dick whispers, feather-light against Jason’s ear as his hips roll against his like a well-oiled machine, he’s been carrying on since they stumbled into bed, “ _over and over,_ until you believe I’m your first, your only, _and_ your last, puppy. Until the only thing, you can remember is my name—”

And Ric’s arms wind around Dick from behind--Jason’s starting to suspect it’s a habit--eyes less critical and harsh in comparison to that first meeting, “Dick.” He says and Dick pauses in his teasing to give Ric his full attention. 

“What is it, Rickie? Something wrong?”

Ric’s eyes focus on Jason’s, “... He says he likes us both.” 

And Dick _blinks_ , just like the way Ric did. He does it once, and then again. Jason desperately wants to find _someone_ to direct his anger towards, preferably whoever made them this way.

“ _Oh_. That hasn’t happened in a while.” Dick lifts up Jason’s chin and god sake him; he tips back his head and bares his throat, willing as could be. Dick could wrap his fingers around it and snap his neck quick as a blink and hell, Jason’s not even sure he would fight it.

“Usually your _sparkling_ personality scares people off.”  
  
“I know. I usually don’t attract his type.”

“I usually don’t attract the type that likes _you_ either.”

The lighthearted bickering gives Jason a sense of whiplash, he draws in a shaking breath as his eyes flutter back to Ric. Something about that train of thought feels _wrong_ , why would you pair cinnamon without the nutmeg? Black pepper without the ginger? It’s such a logical conclusion to come to in his head that the thought that this is out of the norm tosses him through a loop. 

“Is it that uncommon?”

“For the second ride? Yeah. Most people just prefer Dick.” And he shrugs, trailing his lips along Dick’s shoulder, Jason thinks he sees a hint of a smile quirk his lips when Dick chuckles heartily and cards his fingers through the unshaved side of his hair.

The action’s almost heartbreakingly endearing, in fact, the very concept of favoring one over the other is baffling to Jason, it’d be like wanting the sun but refusing the moon. _They’re complimentary_ , he can’t help thinking, half-offended, even in his daze. 

“It’s why I usually don’t take people’s repeat propositions,” Dick says, trailing a finger right down the middle of Jason’s chest, grinning as he feels the shudder surge down through his form-- _A tease. Definitely a tease._

“Dual package, no refunds.”

“You’re embarrassing.” Says Ric, trailing his hands along Dick’s waist, reverently and Jason’s swallows dry. It’s like they’re caught up in their own little bubble as Dick preens at the gentle touches, turning his head in sync with Ric’s as they meet in a seamless kiss.

_I want._

The sudden thought startles him, but Jason isn’t allotted the time to absorb it, not when Dick’s slinking upwards with mischievous eyes, body sliding against his. 

“You know, I’m starting to like you more and more,” Jason tracks him with unblinking eyes as Dick moves to straddle his hips. “Ever eaten anyone out before, baby?”  
  
Jason swallows again, his eyes flit down to those tight far too damn tight, navy blue briefs and back to that smile. “Never. But if you want me to blow you I can--”

Dick presses a finger to his lips to cut him off, eyes brightening with barely suppressed laughter, “Close but not quite.” Jason is too mortified at first to let the words truly sink in, and just like that, firm calloused fingers are massaging his thighs again. Ric’s touch is controlled and greedy--no-nonsense, just like the way he speaks. “Maybe a more hands-on demonstration? Learn as you go.”

“If you don’t like it, we can try something else, how about it?” Dick’s fingers roam along his chest, finding his nipples and stimulating them in slow wanton circles with the pads of his thumbs, the sensation makes Jason’s spine twitch involuntarily--it goes directly to his groin. 

Jason clenches his teeth, heaving out a shaky breath, as Ric’s fist pumps his wet cockhead a few times. He can’t see him past Dick’s body, his shoulders, those _hips_ , canting against his bare torso, “ _Oh, fuck…”_

“Gettin’ there, baby.” Dick breathes out against his ear. “But I need an answer, we’re starting slow--I know you remember, right?”

He feels something in his gut clench as Dick nips the shell of his ear, “... I thought that was just the deal for the first night.”

“Doesn’t matter, that was before I knew we’d get an encore.” Dick offers him a cheeky wink.

Jason tries to keep his breath even, “'Encore'?”

“Like he said,” Ric pipes up, checking Dick with his hip, “most people don’t get a second ride. --Also, Dickie. _My_ turn.”

Dick makes a _complicated_ face, huffing in frustration. Jason notices how he doesn’t quite lock up at that tone quite the way Ric did the last time around. It’s more like he’s considering a request than an outright order. “But,”

“ _You_ got his first time, remember? So, I get to be his formative experience for this little adventure.” Dick lets out a dramatic sigh but crawls off Jason’s chest as Ric takes his place.

“ _Fine,_ but I still get to ride him.”

“Christ you’re bossy, who says we can’t multitask?” Ric eyes slide back towards Jason who can’t help but swallow; a thrill racing down his spine when he meets those electric blues. Then, smoothly, Jason feels Dick slicking up his member--it’s distracting, Dick’s an incorrigible tease, he makes a game out of teasing his cockhead with his thumb, winding him up enough times that his eyes start to feel hazy and wet.

(They’re nothing but trouble, this he knows, but Jason finds himself caring less and less about that fact by the minute.)

Ric brackets Jason’s face on either side with his knees, fingers curling in his hair, he looks at him, consideringly as Jason twitches and shudders. “You mentioned that you were a fast learner right?” Jason has to blink several times to clear his head enough to answer.

“I…” his eyelids flutter as Dick continues teasing him, “Can handle anything you throw at me, pretty boy.” He manages a smirk, heart shuddering as Ric’s expression lights up in something like approval, Jason’s blood is rushing too much for him to pick up on it properly. 

“Oh yeah--? Good,” a haughty smile flickers across Ric’s face, “well, consider this a mock-exam.”

Jason’s brows furrow, confused until Ric tightens his grip his jaw right then--enough to bruise. “What do you mean by…?”

Ric doesn’t respond as he studies Jason, hemming, and hawing, “... Think you can fuck my hole the way you fucked my mouth on the terrace earlier tonight handsome--? I wanna try sitting on your face.”

There’s something about that dark, focused tone that makes Jason’s heart do a flip in his chest--but the final nail in the coffin doesn’t hit him until Dick finally sinks down onto his cock with sounds on his lips that’d put a siren to shame.

(Jason thinks he’d like to keep them too—if they’d let him.) 

  
  


♤♤♤

The next morning is oddly serene in comparison to the night before. Like last time, there are two warm bodies curled against either of his sides. Jason squints up at the stained ceiling, hair disheveled, covered in love bites that feel like they’ve bruised him to the bone. --He wonders how he got here. Jason closes his eyes again and allows himself to drift off to the sounds of the city--it feels like it's been forever since he’s just meditated to the sounds. The distant sound of police sirens and yowling alleycats almost reminds him of home. until he hears whispers above his head as a single elegant finger plays with a lock of his hair.

“His security detail could use some work,” the deeper register tells him it’s Ric that’s speaking, voice rumbling against his skin, the comfort it brings is almost enough to make Jason drift off again. “We slipped past them without a lick of notice.”

The voice to his right, Dick, laughs that fluttery laugh of his, as those slender fingers press upwards through Jason’s hair. He carefully opens his eyes to see that face leaning over him, drinking in his features. “You’re such a busy body.”  
  
“They aren’t doing their job too well, is all I’m saying,” Ric says, lips moving against his skin, the sensation makes Jason want to reel him in closer--so he does. “He’s one of the biggest names in the Gotham underbelly right now and he has little to no protection. They just let us walk out with him without even a word or an escort. _It’s odd._ And it’s starting to _bug me--_ ” Jason doesn’t need to focus on his touch to feel the frown in his voice.

But he still feels floaty, distantly happy--but it’s more like he’s underwater, or maybe taking a lengthy bath, but something about Ric’s comment niggles at him, “I can take care of myself.” Jason mumbles, but his mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. 

Dick hums and smiles, pressing his forehead to Jason’s meeting his eyes, “Not all here yet, Jay? I know, Ric can get intense when he’s demanding, can’t he?” Jason’s starting to feel like he’ll get lost in those blues if he stares for too long, he keeps getting off-topic--enamored.

He’s a bit miffed when Dick ignores his comment and picks up the previous conversation again, “--Anyways, you sound worried Rickie. I thought you quote: ‘weren’t _sure_ about this one’.”

Ric clicks his tongue in annoyance, and Jason feels that second body curl closer to his side, “... Didn’t say _that_.”

Dick finally blinks, and Jason scrunches up his nose when he presses a kiss to the ridge. “Of course not, Rickie.”

♤

They keep popping up at the casino after that, frequently in fact--like two _very_ stubborn strays.

“Why do you keep coming ‘round here?” Jason asks, over a match of chess after a long night of sweet kisses and tipsy touches of affection. A part of his brain is screaming at him for questioning his sudden wave of fortune in the first place. “There're plenty of richer men in Gotham. There are better cities. You say you’ve been _everywhere_. So, why me? Why here?” 

Ric is in a fluffy black velvet bathrobe Jason bought on a whim--they’re a matching set, Dick’s robe is white--his eyes are focused with an underlying layer of breathtaking intent in those endless blues, it gives Jason a pause. Casually, Ric toys with the black queen he’s stolen.

“Well, that’s easy--” And he grips the chess piece tightly in his fist, grinning back at Jason with every single one of his teeth, “we’re playing the _long game_. Dick likes you. I like you too, I don’t think you _realize_ how rare that is.” 

Jason should probably stop this while he’s ahead, he thinks, but before he can ponder further, long, slender limbs wind around him from behind and a familiar form splays itself against the length of his back. “Chess this time?” a groggy voice whispers, “Wondered where you two went, I woke up alone.”  
  
Ric hums apologetically, leaning back in his chair, Jason takes notice of the way he softens up whenever Dick’s near. “Sorry, Dickie--he mentioned that he always keeps an ebony set on hand in his flat. Couldn’t help myself. Most blueblood types use ivory.”

Dick chuckles, lips pressing against Jason’s pulse, “You’ve always liked strategy games more than gambling.”  
  
“What can I say, the pay off in strategy just feels more rewarding than ‘risk’,” Ric responds, casually twirling the stolen chess piece between his fingers, his lips twist warily, “Then again, it's always about the payoff.”

The way his eyes meet Jason’s right then is enough to shake him to his core, Dick’s arms wind possessively around his neck as he hums, “You’re too intense, Ric--dial it back some will you?” He warns, lightly. But something about his tone leaves Ric going ramrod straight, before he bows his head, chastised. (It’s odd, Jason’s found himself responding to that tone lately as well, even if it’s not much different than Dick’s regular speaking voice; just a few stressed words here, a thinning smile and a hint of narrowed eyes there. But something about _that tone_ never fails to make him reconsider disobeying.)  
  
Then, with a huff, Ric starts drumming his fingers along the table, “... There’s no need to beat around the bush is there? You’re always too soft.”

Dick, snorts against Jason’s bare skin, before releasing him briefly, only to promptly perch in his lap, “Or maybe you should try being _softer_.” Jason moves another piece, distracted by Dick shifting around to straddle him properly. The fluffy white robe slips off of one of his shoulders as he mouths at Jason’s pulse.

“You’re sugar, I’m spice. That’s the way it's always been.” Dick hums in response to the words, as his hand slides beneath Jason’s mostly undone shirt.

“I guess it would be a little jarring if we were _both_ sweet.”

“It’s how people get diabetes, you know?” Ric smirks, humorless as he returns his gaze to the game board.

Jason lets out a sharp gasp then, dropping a newly swiped chess piece as Dick nips his jaw playfully. He curses, fingers scrambling to get a grip on the arms of the chair. _Dead. He’s dead in the water, and these two are going to drown him._

Ric hums distractedly, paying the scene no mind as he makes his next move, “I have you in check.”

  
  


♤♤♤

The first real thing Jason discovers about the Grayson twins, besides their… obvious prowess in the bedroom--is that they are both wickedly clever and just as articulate. Truly, genuinely, _clever._

Dick weaves his words together like the spellbinder he is--he smiles at Jason’s obscure literary references and never fails to respond in kind. He’s charismatic, pretty, and charming enough to leave Jason’s chest constricting on a good day.

Ric is intense and sharp as a knife, not near as friendly as his brother but just as wicked in his intelligence. However, Jason finds favorite moments in whenever Ric’s soft and near heartbreakingly affectionate in the mornings; the _nice_ ones, whenever Ric’s just woken up and hides stubbornly from the morning sun, pressed against Jason’s chest growling low and possessive in his throat whenever Jason so much as tries to break his hold.  
  


(When did they start staying over so often? The days are blurring together.)  
  


Soon enough Dick and Ric are coming by not just often, but _every_ night--it really only takes two months for the men to stop actively checking if they’re on the guest list.

Suddenly, it’s not uncommon for Jason to feel hands winding around his waist while he’s walking the floor entertaining guests, always followed by the telltale chime of a familiar singsong: _Jay_ ; then the feeling of a second pair of arms curling around his left arm, always his left, his dominant side: _Jase_. 

(They’re different, all the way down to the way they call him. It makes him soft. It makes him want to keep them safe and hold them close in equal measure.)

He stops flinching at their touch when it happens out of nowhere, they _both_ do it so often, it’d be exhausting if he didn’t grow accustomed to it. The twins just seem to _crave_ touch whether it be sexual or innocently affectionate, Dick can’t seem to help himself. Even Ric with his quicksilver smiles and his grim disposition still reaches up a hand to comb through Jason’s locks whenever the opportunity arises.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. 

It’s like he blinks and they’ve both always been cogs in his metaphorical machine all along. The men have _nicknames_ for them these days, (Ric is ‘Black’ Dick is ‘Blue’--he’s not surprised, it was his first thought too, after all.) It doesn’t start to hit him fully until he opens his closet one morning. It’s a walk-in, a bit too big for one person, but it leaves Jason confused and disoriented--because his normally Spartan tidy closet is suddenly filled to the brim with clothing. Only a third of them are his. 

It hits him not three seconds later that he hasn’t _actually_ slept without being sandwiched between two warm, solid bodies for multiple weeks. And the truly sobering part about all this? Jason finds he genuinely can’t imagine life without it anymore.

When the panic sets in, it hits him merciless and abrupt, without a lick of warning, like a blow to the back of the head. Jason’s in the shower, getting ready to leave for his ‘night job’—and the only thought on his mind is what to get for _groceries_ this week. The twins don’t like the same things, they both like spicy, but Dick likes sweet things while Ric prefers sour, finding a balance between their palettes is always a challenge and-- _when did he start buying groceries for three?_

The sudden realization almost makes Jason slip in the shower, his hand hits the tile with a loud bang as he catches himself. A bottle of shampoo goes clattering loudly to the tile--followed by several more bottles of conditioner that Jason is moderately sure _aren’t his either._ He’s struck the overwhelming urge to pace, instead, he crouches down in the shower slicking his fingers back through his wet hair.   
  


Fuck.  
  


He absently watches the black-tinted water as it swirls down the drain; he’ll have to re-dye his streak soon, his roots are starting to show and that’s a whole _other_ can of worms Jason’s not quite prepared to open with his new supposed 'housemates'. Suddenly, Jason startles. A loud booming knock rattles the bathroom door, his eyes grow wide as dinner plates as he tries and fails to remember how to breathe--he’s still got his head in his knees. _Jason Peter Todd you were trained better than this on your feet._

“ _Jason!?_ Are you alright?” Dick’s voice echoes from the other side of the door, anxious--Jason can mentally picture the worried look on his face.

“We heard a crash.”

Jason has to inhale twice before he can answer because _hell there’s someone around often enough to be concerned about him._ “Y-Yeah,” despite his best efforts his voice comes out as a weak croak, Jason clears his throat, tries again. “ _Yeah_ \--I’m alright. Just slipped and had to catch myself--that’s all.”

“... You don’t sound fine.” Ric’s there now, ever skeptical but Jason can still sense a hint of that same anxiety in his tone. The door handle turns, Jason physically recoils. _Fuck, of course, he’d forget the door,_ they shower with him more often than not these days. Panic catches his chest in a vice and _squeezes_ , he bows his head again, scrunching up drenched hair. _How’d he let it get this far? How’d he let them get so close?_   
  


“Wait don’t—”  
  


The door sweeps open, without preamble there’s a beat of silence then the quiet padding of feet on the bathroom tile. Jason doesn’t want to lift his head if anything he recoils further as the footsteps grow closer. He flinches at the sound of the showerhead as it's turned off. A towel is thrown over Jason’s shoulders after an indeterminate amount of time--it’s fluffy and warm.

“Do you want to be touched?” Ric’s voice says next to his ear, Jason can imagine Dick next to him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, holding himself back. _And he knows he’s right Dick lives for physical affection and comfort, he needs it. It’s no different to him than breathing._

Jason shakes his head.

“Okay. We can work with that,” Ric draws in a deep breath, brows knitting in the closest thing Jason’s seen to genuine concern on the older man’s face. It makes him antsy. “Are you verbal right now, sweetheart?”

Jason’s nails dig into his biceps as he frantically shakes his head. _Words weren’t an option right now, they’d give to much away make him seem weak, make him sound uncertain, young--_

There’s a longer, uncertain, beat of silence. Ric’s frown only deepens, Jason’s been focusing on his chin.

“Please... look at me?”

He stiffens further, there’s a chill in the air—he doesn’t shake or nod his head this time around. Slowly, carefully, he lifts it properly, but he still can’t meet either set of eyes.

Dick is frowning and silent, arms tightly crossed over by the sink a few feet away, keeping his distance. Jason kind of hates how well he knows both their mannerisms by now. “Did something happen? Just… breathe. I’m here, I’ll listen.” Ric says, dropping his voice low, it’s a comfort Jason doesn’t know what to do with.  
  


_He’s not sure what he’ll do if he ever loses either of them._

  
Once he finally manages to push the words past his trembling lips, what comes out is something stilted and irrational even to Jason’s own ears.  
  


“Don’t--don’t _leave_.”   
  


Ric’s expression darkens for a moment, Dick starts in surprise, pushing away from the sink and finally padding over to the shower. When he crouches in front of Jason, he stops just shy of carding through his damp hair, fingers twitching as they stop short. 

  
Jason sighs shakily before he says something even more damning than the last: “ _Stay._ ”  
  


The silence stretches on between the three of them, Jason’s chest constricts as the twins turn to look back at each other in unison, Dick’s eyes are hard and reproaching, Ric is frowning, conflicted. Jason lets out an unsteady breath and his face fills with a mortified heat; it’s got nothing to do with the lingering steam from the shower. 

Of course, they wouldn’t stay just because he asked them to, they’ve been everywhere, all over the world, they’ve said so time and time again. —Gotham’s hardly a thought, it’s got no place being a home for _anyone_ to return to, nevermind someone bright and clever as Dick or, sharp and intelligent as Ric. There’s no reason for them to stay for some new money brat with a bastard’s legacy to his name who’s been in over his head from the moment he was born in the crime-ridden streets of the Narrows. California suits them better, maybe somewhere in Europe, someplace beautiful.

He opens his mouth to take back the words— _a mistake, a stupid mistake, Jason should just take what he gets, shouldn’t he?—_ but suddenly Dick is there, sitting close as he dares, uncaring of the leftover water from the shower.

“... Can we touch you?” Dick asks, quietly, fingers pressed tight into fists against the tile.

Jason blinks in surprise, hesitating, “You… still want to?” The crack in his voice is humiliating enough to leave him wincing.

Dick tries to catch his eye again, desperately, “Hey, hey—don’t do that, keep looking at me. _Eyes on me._ ” Jason refocuses, and it’s almost worth it, watching Dick’s shoulders unwind in relief, “Of _course,_ I still want to, Jay. I want _you_.” He squeezes his eyes shut briefly as Dick leans in close enough to just tickle his ear with a murmur, “So, let me?” 

Jason inhales as he looks into Dick’s eyes, they’re turbulent and troubled as though he’s at a loss. Ric is equally lost, hesitating at the edge of the shower, there’s a long moment where no one seems to breathe. Then, tentatively, Jason reaches out a hand, and layers it over one of Dick’s tense fists, Dick reacts almost immediately quickly swiveling his head to stare down at their joined hands and back at Jason.

“I’ve never wanted anything other than…” Jason trails off, and slumps over, leaning heavily against Dick’s shoulder. Dick lets out a soft, relieved sigh before he reaches up a hand to gently massage Jason’s scalp and Ric presses up against his other free side.

“... Other than what, Jase?” Ric asks, his voice is deceptively soft, so tender, even when he racks his brain, Jason still can’t recall a single instance over the past few months 

“Other than fixing Gotham.” 

The twins lock gazes again, this time Dick’s biting his lip, and Ric’s jaw tightens as he cups Jason’s cheeks--his hands are cool to the touch, soothing. And god, shoot him through the gut now, he nuzzles into them as though he needs them just to keep breathing. 

“What do you mean… ‘fix’ Gotham?”

“You’re a _crime lord_ sweetheart, no offense.” Dick cuts in, still running his fingers through his hair, but his eyes are wide with concern and when he laughs it just sounds uneasy.

Jason nods at that, melting as Dick’s clever fingers massage the back of his nape, “Yeah. _I am,_ that’s the point, see?”

“Meaning?”  
  


_It means I’m the only one who can fix it.  
  
_

But, Jason doesn’t voice the damning words, just shakes his head; looking into their eyes, he already knows they won’t _get it_. “Just… it’s been a weird day. Nevermind, sorry.” He stands to his feet wrapping the towel around his waist, “I’ve got things to do tonight—there’s,” Jason rubs his temple, mentally counting down from ten, “... There are leftovers in the kitchen, if there isn’t call, Jerald, he’ll take care of it.”

He feels eyes on his back as he leaves the bathroom, he knows, without looking, that they’re both surely frowning. 

♤  
  


“Dick, he’s just like—”  
  
  
“ _I know._ ”  
  


“And he’s _alone_ , Dick. He won’t even talk, he thinks he’s all _alone_. _Just like—_ ”  
  


“He’s not alone.”  
  


“... What?”  
  


“He’s _not_ alone. He has us, remember?”   
  


♤

Ric takes a more active role after the shower incident, it’s slow going at first. So slow going, Jason doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s much too late and he’s far too used to a black-clad shadow. 

It starts with the little things, a few small suggestions, some shared paperwork there... Nothing major, Jason doesn’t think much of it when Ric starts asking a few more questions about his second business. He’s not exactly the type to splice truths about the fact that maybe he won’t come home one night, or just how dangerous this life actually is. Some noble part of Jason secretly hopes that the bare-boned truth might be enough to scare them off before his luck runs out and they get themselves burned. It doesn't shake out that way, of course, Dick is surprisingly efficient and Ric doesn't so much as _stumble_ no matter the field task Jason fits him with. It makes Jason uneasy. 

Later that day, he’s _still_ thinking about it, hand gripping a kitchen knife, in the middle of chopping onions, fingers white-knuckled and trembling around the handle. He almost expects it, when tan arms wind their way around his back, slender fingers resting over the top of his scarred ones. 

“Need help?” Dick’s voice murmurs against this nape, Jason feels his muscles naturally unwind. He closes his eyes, counts to ten.  
  


“... I’m fine.”  
  


“You’re tense.”  
  


“I’m _not._ ”   
  


He swears he feels Dick’s frown against his skin--but just as quickly, the older man presses a fleeting kiss to the spot. Dick hums low and soothing, “You know... keeping things bottled up never really helps anyone, you’ll just end up exhausting yourself that way.”

Jason sets down the knife, craning his neck around to face Dick. He’s tired. “If this is about the damn shower thing--”

“It’s about a lot of things.” Dick presses, face troubled, “Just… let us in. All we want to do is help you, that’s _all_ I want to do, Jay.”

The look on his face nearly breaks him. Jason can’t keep eye contact so he returns his attention to the onions on the counter. He tries to go back to his task, but Dick tangles their fingers together before he can go back to chopping.   
  


“ _Please_.”  
  


Jason counts to ten _several_ times in his head but Dick just wraps around him, exhaling lightly against his nape once again, “Dinner can wait,” he continues, burying his face in the skin, “Just come sit with me for a bit, won’t you?”

Despite his best efforts, Jason feels himself unravel, he allows Dick to turn him around properly, lightly pulling him along by both his wrists, he’d be lying, if the relieved smile Dick offers doesn’t just make him melt. They end up on the couch, he has no idea how he got there, he’s entire being is buzzing, all the way down to his fingertips as Dick carefully guides his head down until his face is buried in the crook of his neck.

It’s blissfully dark, dangerously warm, resting against Dick like he is, every time Jason inhales, the scent of autumn body wash and spice fills his nostrils. 

There’s a long silence. Long enough that Jason starts to worry in the back of his mind about the food he left out, but then Dick does that thing where he uses both hands and all of his fingers to comb through his curls and massage his scalp and he may as well turn putty right there--he’s so useless then. 

“Tell me about Gotham,” Dick says, and Jason couldn’t deny him a single damn thing if he wanted to, it’s almost frightening, how eager he is to keep him near--keep _both_ of them close. Because see? Jason Todd is a selfish, _selfish_ man, he’s not arrogant enough to see himself as anything close to a good person.

He’d kill for them if they asked, that much Jason is sure of.

“It’s rotten to the core.” Jason replies, without preamble, his voice muffled against tanned skin, “Gotham… _ruins_ people, you know? Its greed is the type that takes root deep inside eats you up until there’s nothin’ left, not even the bones. Nothing changes here, there’s no hope, no respite. For every Batman there’re _seven_ Falcones, for every Commissioner Gordon, there’s an entire department on a don’s payroll.” He feels the anger building the longer he goes on, Jason needs to clench his teeth, remind himself where he is again.   
  


_Get a damn reign on yourself, Todd.  
  
_

Dick’s hand pauses, Jason can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something in his voice that changes, almost darkens. “It’s a never-ending crusade.”

Jason’s head snaps up at that, his lip is curled now, Dick doesn’t even flinch when he pushes away, “It’s a vicious _cycle,_ not a crusade _._ No one else sees it, not the way I do.”

“You seem very sure about that.” Dick sounds tired then, and it gives Jason a pause, this feels like _another_ exam of some kind, a test. He’s not sure why but he feels like if he fails it he won’t see Dick _or_ Ric anymore after this, that the past few months will have turned out to be another dream, just as he’d expected after their first meeting, and then he’ll wake up alone in bed tomorrow. 

The thought shakes him more than he’s willing to admit. Jason crosses his arms tightly defensively over his chest. 

“Gotham’s problem isn’t just crime.” He says, scooting back a few paces as Dick simply tilts his head, “It’s a number of factors, poverty, the drugs, the pollution, the bone-deep filth… You can’t eradicate crime in a city like this. You have to regulate it--”

“You have to _control it_.” Dick finishes for him, realization dawning on his face. “That’s… what you plan on doing. That’s what you were going to say in the bath. I thought...” Dick exhales, it almost sounds like relief.

“... You thought?”

Dick’s face splits into a bright smile, Jason’s relieved, knowing he gave the correct answer. “I was worried my instincts were off about you but I was _right_ you’re really something special, Jay.”

Jason's face twists into a confused frown, “What do you mean by that?”

Dick opens his mouth to say something, only to close it again as the entryway lock suddenly turns. He positions himself closer to Jason so that he’s just a little bit in front--it’s one of those odd habits Jason’s noticed both he _and_ Ric have. It’s almost, dare he call it, _protective_. A part of him is uncomfortable thinking about what kinds of demons those two must have--the kinds that cause them to catalog all the entry points and exits whenever they so much as enter a room like Jason does. That same part of him boils at the very thought of what may have instilled those habits, to begin with.

The door opens and closes, Dick doesn’t relax until he notices Ric round the entryway. 

“... How’d your meeting with security detail go?”

“Fine. People have gotten more respectful lately.” Says Ric, taking off his (Jason’s) gloves and shoving out of his (also Jason’s) suit jacket--he looks so good in suspenders it should be fucking illegal. 

Sharp eyes slide to Jason, his stomach does this odd thing he can’t quite explain, it’s been happening a lot these days. “Jase, you should do some house cleaning-- there are some rats from a few other mafia families in your lower ranks—or so the grapevine says.”

Jason blinks, he goes back over the past couple weeks in his brain, was there a meeting today? He’s sure he looked at his planner earlier yesterday. He furrows his brows, “Meeting? What meeting? You... subbed out for me?”

Ric shoots him a look then, like _he’s_ the crazy one here, “No, this is more street-level stuff, you only need to go to the big ones.”

It’s like the damn rugs been pulled out from under his feet, Jason’s mouth opens and closes several times, “... _Bill’s_ my second.” he tacks on, numbly, it sounds silly and feeble, even to his own ears. 

Ric scoffs, “Oh please, he doesn’t even know how to efficiently section out your territories.” Jason sits back on the couch, he’s not sure what’s more preferable, _this_ trainwreck of a conversation or Dick needling him for information. 

“ _Rickie_ , you’re being too intense again,” Dick says, and perches pretty on the arm of the couch, running his fingers through his hair again, it calms Jason’s nerves far more than he’s willing to admit. Ric, however, bulldozes right over him.

“—I’ve been his second for _weeks,_ D. I’ve been running the shipments, keeping track of the competition, managing our ranks—”

“ _Our?_ ”

Ric grinds his teeth, “Yes, Jase, _our._ ”

Jason presses his fingers up through his bangs, letting out a frustrated exhale--Was this even real? This entire situation was starting to feel like a very specific brand of absurdist nightmare he can’t wake up from. 

Hell, _sure_ he’s noticed Ric talking with the men a little more, and maybe he’s around him on business more often too since Jason’s admittance that Ric had good ideas from a business standpoint, and he’s a damn charismatic speaker to boot so it’s just _easier_ to bring him along to present them to the greater gang and… oh, fuck.

“But! But, you _can’t_ be my second, I mean, it’s _you_ and you’re just,” 

Ric’s gaze darkens, he stands straight, lifting up a challenging eyebrow. “I’m just _what_?” Jason feels his throat go a little dry. At a loss of what else to do, he starts pleading.

“... _Babe_ , you can’t just… _do_ that. You’re a civilian.”

“Bold assumption,” Ric scoffs, “but go on.”   
  


_Because you’re too important.  
  
_

“ _It’s. Not. Safe._ ” Jason insists, evenly. 

Ric lets out another laugh, it’s meaner than the last one, “Oh _sweetheart_ , we haven’t been safe from the moment your men started knowing us by name.”  
  


“ _Ric._ ”  
  


“No. We’ve been living together for months, Jason. We have our own damn security detail.” Ric braces both hands on the back of the couch, trapping Jason in on both sides--narrowed eyes refusing to leave his. There’s a long moment where they’re just staring each other down, Jason’s expression twisting in growing dismay, Ric’s face set with a bone-deep stubbornness.   
  


(It reminds Jason of how Ma used to be—before things went sideways.)  
  


Then, slowly, gradually, Ric leans forward until their foreheads are touching. “... You told me not to leave. This is your proof that I’m _not_ leaving.” 

Jason lets out a controlled exhale, “... You can’t be my second.” It’s less of an argument and more of a plea to common sense. 

Ric pulls back, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Hmm, that mindset sounds like something we might need to start dismantling early.”

Jason’s eyes narrow in clear suspicion, “Dismantle…?”

“Obviously,” Ric scoffs, “Watch me at the next negotiations tomorrow night. We’ll make it a date.”

A chill shoots down Jason’s spine then, he grimaces. “... You want me to take you to a border meeting as… my date?”

“Well, why not? I’ll do the talking in your place.” And then Ric does _that thing—_ the one where he allows his lips to just brush against Jason’s, ever so slightly? It’s at that exact moment, Jason knows for sure this isn’t a battle he’s winning. “It’ll be romantic.” 

Dick cuts in then, letting out a thoughtful sound, “And while we’re on the subject, Jay, your books could use some work.” 

All he can do is let out an exasperated groan in return. 

♤♤♤

Much to Jason’s endless and ever-growing chagrin, the evening does in fact turn out to be _romantic_.

It’s highly offensive in Jason's opinion, how _good_ Ric is at keeping order in a room. Ric’s an aggressive haggler, he finds, abrasive, blunt--to the point of rudeness in some cases--but somehow, he never quite crosses that line with business partners or comes off as disrespectful. 

Jason watches from the corner in grim silence, eyes, and ears open for any signs of unplanned guests—it’s like he’s holding his breath waiting for the other pin to drop but throughout the night the moment just… doesn’t come. Utterly baffling is what it is, it took Jason _heads in a damn duffle bag_ to get any crime lord in Gotham to show him even a lick of respect and all it takes from Ric is an icy glare and a firm tone. 

Jason might even call it an affront--that is if seeing Ric decked out in leather, arguing down some of the most powerful men in Gotham over territory lines _wasn’t_ one of the sexiest things he’s seen to date.

“You mapped out like, several turf negotiations I’ve been trying to get pushed through for _months_. I’ve never seen anyone bully Black Mask’s men into doing _anything_ \--”

Ric is flipping a custom lighter in his grasp and has the nerve to shrug at him. It’s stainless steel--quality too--Jason remembers lending it to him the third time they all woke up in bed together and Ric found him that morning on the balcony.

—

_(“Give me a light?”_

_“Smoking’s pretty bad for you.”  
  
_ _“Lots of things are bad for me,_ you’re _probably bad for me, but try as I might, I just can’t seem to stop breathing in your embers, Mister Todd.”)_

—

He never gave back the lighter. Jason hasn’t asked for it either.

Said man leans against the side of the alley wall, eyes intent and focused. “Well, yes. Anyone’s better than that neurotic bastard. _You_ don’t go into blind rages that end in killing your business partners as pseudo power moves.” 

“I mean—”  
  
“How you _initially_ got people to respect you is notwithstanding,” Ric reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, he offers one to Jason, he takes it without hesitation.

“Dick’s gonna throw a fit, ya’know he hates it when you smoke.”

Ric rolls his eyes, “Uh-huh. So what? He has kittens over _everything,_ besides I deserve a treat for not bashing Falcone’s head in.”

Jason crosses his arms with a growing scowl, he glances over his shoulder at the warehouse’s steel door, “Why? He say something I missed?”  
  
Ric lights up and takes a long drag of his cigarette, grinning, “Personal reasons.” 

“What kind of personal reasons.”

But all he gets is the slightest inclination of the other’s head, a teasing smile pulling at those amused lips. Ric is backlit by a street light, as he takes several prowling steps forward, taking another drag of his cigarette before promptly flicking it away. He steps up to Jason until he’s absolutely _obscenely_ close, it’s not even a shock, when he finally closes the remaining distance between their lips and _exhales_ , greedily, Jason breathes in the billowing smoke. 

“Jase,” he murmurs, hand twisting in his tie as he purposefully walks him backward until they hit a wall in the narrow alley they’re in. Jason can feel the gravel of the aged brick digging into his back, even through his vest, “I’m feeling bothered—take the edge off, won’t you?”

His voice is sweet as Dick’s, soft as a coo, as his knee presses up between Jason’s legs, he can feel the way the warmth of his body sinks past his suit jacket and into his skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” Jason says as he gives in, fingers wandering along Ric’s exposed midriff.

Ric’s smile widens, eyes flashing with mischief. “Oh _yes_ , I know. You’re just that predictable, babe."

"So then… _Boss,_ ” He tests the word on his tongue, the way he calls him sends a whole different brand of chills racing down Jason’s spine. “Did I get the job?”

Jason groans, as he leans dips down fully to catch him in a (rather nasty) cigarette flavored kiss, Ric hums contently. “ _Yeah, yeah_ \--you made the damn cut you absolute terrorist.” he holds Ric at arm’s length if only so he can have a moment to _breathe._

“Don’t think for a moment this’ll be a cakewalk, though. Even if we _are_ fucking.” He lifts a challenging eyebrow of his own, eying Ric up and down. “My men call me a Spartan.”

The panic he’d felt earlier comes back with a vengeance then, starting at the back of his mind like a creeping foreboding. Did Ric even know how to shoot a gun? Did _either_ of them know how to shoot? How big of a mistake was he making, involving Ric this personally? 

As usual, before Jason can even get himself worked up, Ric has no problem chasing the worries away--he runs his lips along Jason’s collarbone, arms winding around his shoulders to pull him down further, _closer_ until Jason’s forced to press his face into his shoulder. “I can almost definitely guarantee that Dick’s _way_ bossier than you could ever be. I think I’ll manage.” 

Jason scoffs muffled by warm skin, “...Bullshit. He’s the nice one.”

But Ric simply sighs, clicking his tongue in something like sympathy, “Man, I wish I were that green.” 

Jason has half a mind to feel offended by that, but then Ric’s hands get busy unbuckling his belt, shucking up his dress shirt. He frantically looks around in paranoia, hissing low and severe from under his breath, “ _Really, Ric, here!?_ ”

Ric, the insatiable harpy, gives him the blandest look, “Yes, Jase. Here. I _told_ you I needed something to take the edge off.”

“... People are still coming and going. Someone could see us.”

All Ric offers him is a feral grin as he sinks down his chest, further and further until he’s gripping Jason’s dress pants zipper in between his teeth with hooded eyes. A part of Jason mourns those leather pants he’s ruining, crouched in this dirty alleyway. “C’mon, baby. That’s the _fun_ part.”  
  


They end up being ninety minutes late. Dick takes one good look at Ric’s shit-eating grin and the uneven way Jason’s dress shirt is buttoned and doesn’t stop whining about being ‘left out’ for the better half of the hour.

(Jason fixes it though, he’s gotten pretty good with his mouth now, he thinks considering how quickly Dick loses his voice with his legs thrown over Jason’s shoulders that night.)

  
  


♤♤♤

  
  


“What’s your full name?”  
  


Ric looks up from where he’s busying himself over this week’s event calendar on his iPad, his eyebrow arches, skeptical. They’re in a warehouse seated around a card table, prepping for tonight's firearms shipment. Jason can’t stop himself from admiring the elegant way Gotham’s street lights oh so accurately seem to highlight Ric’s cheekbones.

“Ric Grayson.” And with that, he returns back to the screen. 

Jason frowns, “Oh, bullshit. It’s definitely not _Richard._ ”  
  
Ric shrugs, “You’re right, that’s Dick’s name. Mine’s Ric--without the ‘k’.”  
  
“... No one’s name is just _Ric.”_

“You’d be surprised. I’ve met a man named _Guy—_ just Guy. Who names their damn kid _that_? I’ll tell you who--someone wants to raise a grade-a douchebag, that’s who.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“You mean like how _you_ keep deflecting about that black hair dye you keep under the sink?” 

Jason’s eye twitches, sometimes he hates how perspective Ric can be. “My _natural_ hair color’s red.” He says, practiced and mechanical, “I prefer black. Less showy. Your turn.” 

Ric snorts at the non-answer, turning to meet his eyes fully, nothing if not amused by Jason’s efforts, “ _C’mon_ , Jase, If you’re gonna lie to my face the least you could do is make it _believable_.” (Ric Grayson is one of the most gorgeous and clever things Jason’s ever seen in his life but boy what he wouldn’t give some days for a free pass to shove his stubborn ass into Gotham Bay.) “I’m not lying,” he lies.

The older man immediately crosses his arms, letting out a mocking hum from under his breath, he gives Jason a chastising look that’s equal parts skeptical and other parts disappointed, really it emits the same energy as being scolded by a school teacher. Jason slouches his shoulders, looks away.

“Oh yeah? Show me your _oh, so red_ roots then.”  
  
Jason straightens defensively, “I just dyed ‘em this week you ain’t gonna _see_ any.”

“Liar, Liar,” Ric singsongs, wagging a finger right in his face as Jason crinkles his nose, “Your roots are black and _white_ , pup _._ We’ve been showering together for weeks. It’d just be silly if me or Dick didn’t pick up on that.” His crooked grin stretches wider.

“—And while I’m at it, you’ve got a bad habit of slipping into your bowery accent when you’re lying. You should work on that.”

Heat rushes up to his face—quick and furious—Jason’s not sure if he’s angry or embarrassed, being toyed with like this. He lets out a wordless growl, “...All this over a full name?”

Ric hums reaching up to grip Jason’s tie, reeling him down close, his eyes are alight with a challenge. “ _I’ll_ share when _you_ share.”

Jason works his jaw for a moment, meeting those knowing eyes squarely, “...I think I’ll pass.”

“Good answer, pup.” Ric pats his cheek condescendingly and goes back to the event calendar.

“...Dick’s right, you know. Keeping things bottled up never helps.”

Ric clicks his tongue in response, fingers drumming against the table, “Throwing stones in glass houses now are we, Jase? Careful, or you might get nicked.” 

He can’t help rolling his eyes to the ceiling, “So what? Is this a ‘whoever blinks first’ situation?”

“I mean, if it makes you feel better it can be.”

Jason huffs from under his breath, leaning his full weight on the table, Ric pays him no mind, until Jason grips his jaw, smoothly tilting his head up and away from the calendar. “At least _try_ to be direct. I can’t find you two fuckin’ _anywhere_ on the net.”

Ric lets out an impressed whistle, “Wow. Not even surface-level shit? Color me shocked. Your information network must be outdated.”

“My information network is _immense_ ,” he grinds his teeth, “you don’t understand _I can’t even find your damn birth certificates._ That shouldn’t be possible _._ ” Granted, Jason hadn’t exhausted _every_ resource, But honestly one could only run into so many military-grade firewalls before getting… nervous.

He simply turns his head to press kisses into Jason’s palms. It’s very distracting. “Very Ameri-centric of you, assuming we have proper birth certificates. Or if we were even _born_ in the U.S. for one.”

Jason squints, suspicious, “... Were you?” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Polite of you to ask, sweetheart.”

He promptly lets out a wordless sound of frustration, biting down the urge to jump up and pace the room; Ric looks on, dispassionate, “... This is silly. What does it matter what my real name is.”

That gives Jason a pause. _I want to know you. I want to whisper it against your skin in the mornings. I want more of your smile._ His face twists up into a complicated expression, his brows furrowing deeply enough to give him the beginnings of a headache. He decides to drop it.

“It’s not important.”

He hums, smoothly standing from his seat to circle round the table, lifting both arms to wrap around Jason’s shoulders, “See? There’s your answer.”  
  
  


♤♤♤

  
  
For a while, things are good. It’s kind of nerve-wracking how _good_ things are going as a matter of fact. It makes Jason feel uneasy. 

—He wakes up, Dick’s on his right, Ric’s on his left. Dick gives him financial updates over breakfast, Ric lays out his schedule for the week, Jason has his bi-hourly panic attack about how it’s getting harder and harder to keep things from them now that they’re both so _close_. Joint employee meetings with Ric, public events and galas with Dick. He comes back to a noisy flat, with Dick doing yoga while he grumbles at whatever news is on and the incompetence of the GCPD thereof like he always does at 6 o’clock on the dot. Ric is usually not far away, on the sofa, coordinating shipments and the next day’s schedule, occasionally chiming in, to debate with Dick over the merits of the said police department. Jason cooks dinner. They both drag him off to bed, often for nefarious machinations.  
  


Rinse, repeat, the day starts again. Jason wakes up.  
  


It’s not mundane exactly, the twins have way too much personality for things to ever feel anything short of an emotional rollercoaster, it’s more like that feeling you get _deep_ in your gut, when you can just tell that the other shoe is going to drop sooner or later. Jason can hear a ticking in his head, always, constantly, it’s maddening. Like he’s just waiting for the clock to reach ‘zero’. _~~(Tick tock, tick tock; time’s almost up, birdie.)~~  
  
_ And it doesn’t take long for it to drop at all, things like this never do. 

  
♤  
  
  


The situation escalates when Jason’s working out supplier negotiations—the Russians had insisted on Jason coming in person instead of using a middle man.  
  


Not to say Jason didn’t see something like this coming. —See, Jason doesn’t play nice the way Cobblepot did with Gotham’s Rogues or the slimy foreign investors looking to make a quick buck off of Gotham’s drug trade, but then again Jason’s never really played into the _fear_ Arkham seemed to have the entire damn city wrapped up in either. Because at the end of the day? Dent doesn’t scare him, Dent’s a former lawyer turned madman with a facial disfigurement, Roman doesn’t scare him, he’s just a sadist bastard in a skull mask with delusions of becoming king of Gotham’s underbelly, Crane doesn’t scare him, he’s a man dressed in a Halloween costume 365 days out of the year, and so on and so forth. Jason’s seen worse monsters than them. He’s seen them in his nightmares, swimming around him in green-tinted waters, even looking in the mirror, some days. 

Jason _knows_ monsters.  
  
And true monsters aren’t ended as easily as Cobblepot was, the old bird hadn’t even seen the bullet to the back of his skull coming nor the several that followed, because see? Jason knew how these things went in movies, and sometimes Gotham felt like one great big stage drama—a soap opera, a _farce_. Nothing good ever came out of dragging things out unnecessarily, not in a world filled with masks, capes, and a very local and very _persistent_ shadow dressed as a flying rodent.

It’s why he’s not surprised when his arms deal with the Russians turns out to be a double-cross.

Turns out they’d set a trap because they wanted to keep double the goods for none of the price, turns out they figured claiming Jason’s territory would be worth it in the long run, turns out Two-Face and the local mob had decided to team up with the Russians, turns out, quite a few more people wanted Jason dead than was originally expected. This wouldn’t scare Jason on a good day--but now? There’s something roaring in his ears when he’s facing down the smoking barrels of a dozen firearms. Something in him is _screaming_ when a hand wraps around his upper arm, sure as iron, and yanks him backward. 

It’s a different type of horror, that rolls over his shoulders like a heavy shroud, when Ric moves to stand in front of him, shoulders tense, but balanced. But Jason doesn’t get the impression that the tenseness is out of fear, no, not fear. _T_ _hat’s_ not the type of wired smile someone puts up when they’re afraid, after all.  
  


_Adrenaline junkie.  
  
_

“Say, Boss, looks like the Russians don’t wanna play nice. They’re keeping some pretty rotten company.” Ric starts casually, adjusting Jason’s gloves (he’s started wearing them more and more lately, it puts a sense of both warmth and near _stifling_ affection in Jason’s gut).

“They are,” Jason says, mentally shoving down the primal urge that wants to just grab Ric by the scruff and tuck him away somewhere secure and safe. He regrets ever agreeing to this in the first place, he should’ve insisted that he work the floor with Dick. 

Ric makes no move for his holsters, however, much to Jason’s steadily rising anxiety--instead, he reaches for something behind his back that isn’t there, only for a frown to flicker over his features when his hands brush against empty air. Jason watches as his eyebrows furrow and a brief wave of uncertainty passes across his face, before, abruptly, the tension leaves his body, smooths out like standing water. And steadily, he shifts his posture into a more traditional brawlers stance. 

“Could be worse,” Ric says, rocking on the balls of his feet, “not the most hopeless situation I’ve found myself in.”

Jason grimaces, as several guns uncock, including a few from their own side, “Oh yeah? What’s the worst?”

Ric grins at him toothily, he looks beautiful, then, Jason thinks, raven hair shimmering in the dim yellow rays of the crudely lit warehouse. “Spoilers.” He says, before he’s off like a streak of lightning, as soon as one of the men gets just close enough to grab. It’s like Jason blinks and a bruiser, that’s gotta have two hefty weight classes on his current partner at least, goes down hard as a boulder. 

It doesn’t give Ric much of a pause, his spine twists as he uses his momentum to spin a flying kick into another thug’s jaw. He’s aiming for Dent’s men with extreme prejudice. Jason can’t help but find himself drawn to his movements; there’s just something about the way Ric _moves_ , swift, brutal, and sharp--like a viper. 

He’d be a terror with knuckle dusters, Jason thinks, he makes a mental note to buy him a pair of brass ones.

(Not that it _isn’t_ utterly terrifying, seeing Ric leap again and again back into a storm of vindictive bullets, against men far above his slighter size, mind you. Aesthetic appreciation is really all that’s helping Jason cope with the overwhelming thundering in his ears right now.)

When he dives behind a storage crate of the weapons they’d come to pick up, he drags Ric down along with him without a second thought. He can still hear the shoot out above their heads as he loads his guns, Ric is frowning as if just remembering that Jason had been present all along. It’s not annoyance, however, not with the way he splays his fingers out against Jason’s chest and exhales softly in relief when he feels the vest underneath. For a moment, he presses forward, lips warm and solid against Jason’s collarbone.

“You should get out of here, Boss, things are getting dicey.”  
  
Even with the dread chilling his lungs, Ric’s words sound utterly ridiculous, so ridiculous it makes Jason huff out a somewhat hysterical laugh, “Absolutely not.”   
  


He grips Ric’s cheeks hard, almost desperate, forcing their eyes to meet as he keeps his own composure, stainless as steel: _“Absolutely not.”  
  
_

Ric falters, eyes blinking quickly for a moment before his face hardens--there’s a familiar tick to his jaw that screams frustration, it makes Jason feel sick to his stomach in a way that’s indescribable. “Boss, I’ll be fine—I’m serious,” he takes a hold of Jason’s wrists with both his hands, gazes steady. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do.” And to Jason’s mounting existential panic, he means it. ( _It’s why I can’t let you go.)_

“Good. —Get out of the line of fire, wait a few blocks away, and let me and the boys take care of this one.”

“No.” 

There’s a moment where they’re both just glaring at each other, Ric with his clenching jawline and Jason with his pursed lips. Then, ever so abruptly Ric softens up, cups his cheek, “ _Baby_ …” it throws Jason through a loop, how much he sounds like Dick at that moment, “I need you to let me do my job. You said it yourself, didn’t you? It doesn’t change anything.” 

Jason Todd and his stupid fucking mouth. 

“I won’t let you,” 

Just then he sees the barest, flash of a gun muzzle out of the corner of his eye. Ric doesn’t notice, his back is turned, but Jason knows it, the metal of the barrel catches the light off of one of the windows. He doesn’t hesitate to shove Ric to the side, as far as he can. There’s so much gunfire over their heads, Jason doesn’t even hear the resounding _pop._ He goes down hard on his knees, just as he sees Ric’s complexion go ashen.  
  


_“Jason!”_

(Dick is definitely going to kill him—that is if Ric doesn’t rip him apart first.)

♤  
  
♤  
  
♤

“What in the holy fuck was _that_ , do you have a _death wish_ , Todd, is that it? _Do you want to die_?”  
  


“No, Ric.”  
  


“It’s common sense that _the leader_ doesn’t take _cop killers for his damn lieutenants_. The hell is wrong with you?” Ric’s hands are shaking around the gauze, but he’s hiding it by wrapping Jason’s sides with sharp, jerky movements. It’s _almost_ painful.

“Babe—”

“ _Don’t…!_ ” The shout is sharp and piercing, Jason falls silent, eyes darting to the window of his office. He clicks his tongue when he sees figures listening in. _Nosey bastards._ “Don’t you _dare_ patronize me, you got hurt on _my_ watch--next time I tell you to cut and run, you _cut and run_.”

And Jason wishes he could, but... he thinks back to the awful feeling that had settled in his gut, seeing Ric jump into gunfire, thinks about the way a thousand and one worst-case scenarios keep playing across his eyelids every time he so much as blinked. Jason swallows.

“I can’t,” he admits, quietly.

“So what? You’d rather die in a gutter somewhere? Go out in a blaze of glory? Good leaders _fall back_ , you don’t put your damn King on the frontlines in chess,” Ric aggressively snips the gauze, nostrils flaring, as he walks Jason backward until he’s trapping him against his office desk “That’s what _I’m_ for. That’s why _I’m_ your second!”

“That’s _not_ it--I don’t have a deathwish, R, it’s just…I just, I have other priorities now and I’m… adjusting I guess.” Jason winces when Ric tenses up again, clenching his teeth. “I never even thought…”

“I never _thought_ I’d get this far, is what I mean.”

Ric’s stone-faced when he speaks again, his voice is even and controlled, not so dissimilar to the calm preceding a storm. “Don’t talk like that.”

Jason closes his eyes and mentally begins to count, thinks on how he got here, how he’s fallen so wholly and completely into the snare of these two twin devils, how he’s not sure what he’ll do if one day he comes home and he doesn’t spy Dick, curled on the couch in the front room, doing his empire’s finances by hand like the absolute dream he is, or Ric pacing around the kitchen island, barking out orders to gang members lower down on the food chain, ironing out the kinks hardly worth Jason’s time. 

It’s uncomfortably _domestic_ in the worst way possible and Jason’s terrified by how commonplace his routine has quickly become with the twins’ “extended stay”. ~~Living with you, Todd, they _live with you_ , you absolute spineless idiot.~~

Jason swallows, he can’t meet Ric’s eyes he finds, not for the sentence that’s about to leave his lips, it’s impulse, really, or maybe it’s out of sheer desperation to share, to connect with _someone_. It’s just been so long since anyone’s even tried with Jason. “... Originally, it was supposed to be a five-year plan, you know? Gotham.”

Ric’s eyes flit back over to him, sharp like a hawk’s, “What the hell do you mean, _‘five-year plan’_?”

(Geeze, just when he thought things were starting to wind down.)

“I _mean_ , I wasn’t expecting to make it past my thirties, _Ric_ ,” Jason quirks an eyebrow, the words come out more clipped than he means them to. “It’s not like this business has a high life expectancy.” And he’s right, half his men are dead by sixty if they don’t retire first, hell, most everyone in this business who taught him the ropes are buried six feet under by now.

Ric’s jaw clenches briefly, and, for a moment, Jason thinks he’s genuinely angry. It takes him aback, enough so that Jason considers just dropping the whole can of worms to reopen later. --Until suddenly, like flipping a switch, just as quickly, the fury washes away from Ric’s expression, and he lets out a slow calming exhale.

“You’re going to live a full life to retirement age.” He reiterates, firmly, “That’s not a suggestion, by the way, you _will._ I’ll personally drag you there kicking and screaming if I need to.”

Jason’s eyebrows lift, running back over the conversation in his brain, placatingly, he holds up his hands. “Listen--sugar, _babe_.” Ric looks unimpressed by his attempts to soften him up, it makes Jason sigh, “It’s--not like I’m setting out to _die here_ , I’m just being realistic, that’s all.”

Ric slams his palms hard on the desk, boxing Jason in further, his irises are blazing, “Gotham isn’t worth _shit_. And protecting it sure as hell isn’t worth anyone’s life--least of all _yours,_ Jase.” Jason bristles at that, calm visage slipping as he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Because _how dare he_? Jason grew up on these streets, ran drugs from Narrows’ rooftops, lied to filthy cops, befriended every call girl on his block--now, he wouldn’t say Gotham was a _good_ city, but dammit it was _his_ city. And god willing he wasn’t going to break the promises he wrote in blood for these crime-ridden streets just because of a few pretty words from a pretty face.

(He thinks he says too much of this out loud because Ric recoils as if struck. But Jason’s too heated to care.)

“I _owe_ things to Gotham. Things that don’t have _shit_ to do with you, I never asked for you to help me, _either of you_. I grew up here. This is my city, _my_ choice.”

He watches those brilliant blue eyes flash like lightning before Ric fires back, nostrils flaring. “It’s _no one’s_ job, to keep a city. A city is just that--a place, you can’t take ownership over a _place_. It’s absurd that you feel a responsibility to a dump that not even the government wants to deal with.”

“Drop it, Ric.” Jason starts, rolling back his shoulders, willing his teeth not to grind. Green twinges at the edges of his vision, perhaps unwisely, he pays it no mind. 

Ric raises up to his full height, eyes burning into Jason’s, when he speaks its low and menacing, like distant thunder. “You wanna know what _I_ think? _I_ think it’s because you’re _scared._ Terrified that if you let either of us in, you’ll _change_ , and all of this—” he sweeps his hand around the office, Jason’s face reddens, “It’ll be for _nothing_. It’s the same reason why you haven’t even worked up the nerve to declare our relationship status to our faces.”

Jason’s anger has always been an explosive thing, even before that cackling red smile and that all-encompassing liquid green, it’s not a trait he’s proud of. It’s not one he’d ever boast about either. It reminds him too much of his old man, too much of _Willis_. Regardless, Jason does what he always does when he loses his temper, he fucks up. The world melts away and his mouth just _goes_. Through the roaring in his ears and the anger that rises up from deep in his gut, he couldn’t hear the vitriol spitting past his lips if he _wanted to_.

(And god. He _really_ doesn’t want to.)

He gets defensive, says things he doesn’t mean—it escalates into a screaming match. Jason doesn’t realize until partway through a sentence that he’s been seeing things completely in green for the past several minutes now.  
  


“ _The only good thing about you is the fact that you and Dick share the same face.”  
  
_

It stops him short, the alarm doesn’t set in until he cuts himself off, out of breath, something in Jason wavers a bit seeing how thunderous Ric’s expression is. ( _Filled with distrust and trepidation; a mirror of that night they first met.)_ The _dread_ doesn’t start to set in until he registers the last thing he said, and it’s like all of the blood drains out of him and leaves Jason ice cold.   
  


_Fix it. He needs to fix it, he can still—  
  
_

“If you like Dick’s face so much, why don’t you just fuck him instead from now on.” Ric starts, low and nasty, but there’s something desperately hurt in his expression that about breaks Jason worse than the fresh bullet graze on his side. Jason takes a step forward, reaching out, Ric takes several back, bumping into a cabinet with a hollow thump and startling the both of them.  
  
“Ric—”  
  


“Go to hell.” 

  
  


Ric breaks Jason’s desk lamp against the wall on his way out. He doesn’t come back. 

  
♤

Across the kitchen table from his current housemate, Jason has never felt more uncomfortable—it's odd, how heavy a silence can feel after you’ve grown used to having company.

“So how… are... _things_.”  
  
Dick looks at Jason from where he’s glumly stirring up his chicken salad, he pops up a judgmental eyebrow. It makes Jason wince. “‘Things’?”

Jason shrugs a little helplessly, his limbs feel lumbering and awkward--he hasn’t slept in a few days, it’s like the greater gang can feel the lingering tension between the three of them. The employees have been giving Jason a wide berth as a result, keeping a healthy distance from Dick on the floor, even more so than usual--and Ric? Jason hasn’t even _seen_ Ric, even in passing. 

“He’s staying at the motel,” Dick says quietly, interrupting Jason’s thoughts, still mindlessly stirring, he seems almost listless. His words, however, come spilling out in an endless stream, so smooth and diplomatic it about makes Jason’s head spin with their distance. “Don’t worry about whether or not he’s doing his job, by the way. He says he’s willing to hold up his position even if you don’t want him in _that way_ , anymore—”

“Hey.” Jason interrupts, reaching across the table to give Dick’s hands a firm squeeze, Dick’s expression twitches but doesn’t change, “Breathe, I’m not… that’s not.” He swallows, running his fingers through his hair, “He was just worried about me and I blew my lid, that’s all. I don’t… know what he told you but I probably didn’t mean it. I _swear_ I didn’t mean it.” 

(The more Jason reruns that explosive argument over in his head the more the anxiety builds in his gut, he doesn’t even remember what he said—through all that green.) 

Dick bows his head, frowning deeply, “It doesn’t matter. He still thinks you did.”

Jason wishes he remembered--that way he could take it back, “... Which motel is he in.” It’s not a question, not really. It gives Dick a pause and, for some reason, Jason feels like he hears an audible _snap_ in the dead silence of the kitchen. A chill goes racing down his spine. Slowly, Dick lifts his head, it feels like he’s in a damn horror movie when he arches that delicate eyebrow.

“You made him cry.”

_Fuck._

“I’m not giving you the address. Find him yourself, if you mean a fraction of what you just said.” And Dick drops the napkin on top of his mostly uneaten salad, eyes for once, hard and expressionless as he pulls his hands out of Jason’s grip.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” 

Jason feels empty when Dick leaves—he jumps when the bedroom door slams closed, it feels worse than a slap to the face. 

There’s a beat of silence, Jason listens to the steady buzz of the ceiling fan, he watches it go for so long his eyes unfocus. He lets his fist fall on the table, once, thrice--the glasses are shaking, his gaze slides to one empty spot at the table, Jason hadn’t even set it. It’d felt too depressing after that first night to keep setting it. 

“Really fucked things up for yourself this time, didn’t you, Todd?” 

(He checks the schedule that night, from where he’s working on the couch, he’s not brave enough to face Dick in bed. He won’t be until he fixes what he’s broken. But, well, Jason’s always been the handy type, and turns out? For once? This is something he doesn’t _want_ to leave in tatters.)

The week passes by as usual while Jason mentally hatches his plan, he approaches the problem with the same level of efficiency he exercised when he took over Cobblepot’s empire. --Simply because it’s the only way Jason knows _how_ to tackle his problems, it’s the way he was taught to; direct, focused, don’t leave things to fester, buck up and dig his way out of his own holes. 

But even then, Jason feels the twins’ absences like an integral piece of himself has been carved straight out of his chest. 

He sleeps on the couch, Dick is either in the bedroom or he’s just straight up _gone—_ probably with Ric, Jason can’t help thinking, glumly. The only thing that keeps him hopeful is the fact that Dick never fails to come back. He’s not talkative, not really and it's unnerving, but there are moments where he’ll watch Jason from the doorway while he frantically plans out his next move. Because dammit, Jason wants this to _mean_ something, if it wasn’t over this it would’ve been something else, he knows, because he knows himself, and he also knows _Ric_ , despite all of his attempts to ignore what he could feel happening.

On the last day, Dick quietly crosses the room, he perches in his lap, lays his head on his shoulder, “... Ric doesn’t like roses. It’s a cliche.” Is all he says, but the offered olive branch is a step in the right direction, Jason thinks. 

♤♤♤

There are numerous eyes on Jason’s back, whispers at his heels as he strolls through the warehouse doors with a bouquet of rich, red carnations in hand. The men part for him with similar looks of bewilderment, but Jason’s focus is on familiar sun-kissed skin, empathized by the moonlight streaming in from one of the windows. Ric’s back is to him, he’s talking to an employee, working on a tablet—and hell, even from behind he looks wound up tight enough to _break_.   
  


_Jason did that. He’s not proud of being the cause.  
  
_

Ric doesn’t register his determined footfalls until Jason’s nearly within arms reach--it’s like his heart stops when the older man slowly turns around to face him. It’s been a week filled with avoidance, tension and hurt—they’re both wary. Jason swears he could hear a pin drop in that fucking warehouse with the way everyone in the vicinity holds their breath. 

He fully expects the bouquet to be slapped right out of his hands when he jerkily thrusts it at Ric’s chest, almost violently—it’s an accident really, his heart _is_ trying to leap out of his chest, in Jason’s humble defense. His face feels like it’s being held under an open flame.

“Come home.”

Ric stiffens, looks down at the carnations, taking in their brilliant red, before his eyes slide back up to Jason. then, after a long, long, much _too long,_ pause, he tentatively takes the oversized, frankly clumsy, bouquet in his hands and breathes in the scent. He buries his face in the flowers and Jason’s heart swells in something he can’t quite fathom. 

“‘Deep Love’,” Ric exhales and Jason’s head snaps up from where he’d been focusing on the ground.

“... What?”

“Red Carnations. It’s what they mean in flower language,” he reiterates, lips quirking ruefully, “Dick helped you didn’t he—?” He takes a step forward, then several, until he’s leaning his forehead against Jason’s collar. “You cheater.” This time, when he breathes in, it’s Jason’s scent. And, hell, Jason’s never seen Ric shy in his life, never gotten the impression that he _needs_ protecting since meeting him, but at this moment, when the other man reaches out a hand to grip the corner of his shirt and looks at him with those uncertain eyes? Jason wants nothing more than to shield him from everything in the damn world that might _ever_ bring him hurt or pain, even himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says, firmly this time—it’s something he _needs_ to say, something that simple actions just aren’t going to cut. “I crossed a line. _Please_ come home.” _Home. Yes, that’s right,_ **home**. It’s not home without both of them there with him. 

Ric’s grip twists in Jason’s shirt, he exhales again, pressing flush into Jason’s arms, nosing into his suit jacket. “...I missed you.” He says, so quiet no one but Jason can hear. It feels like absolution.

  
  
  


Later, when they’re back home it’s like all of a sudden, they just can’t keep their hands _off_ each other, all frantic gasps and wandering touches. Ric pops off several buttons when he yanks Jason’s dress shirt open, lips hardly breaking the frenzied kiss they’re caught in—but that’s okay, it all evens out because Jason’s pretty sure he breaks the zipper off his pants. Nimble fingers knot tightly in his messy curls as Jason presses his palms upwards against the thin black tank until it rides up past Ric’s chest. He brackets Ric against the wall of the bedroom with his entire body, keeps him there with his teeth, his hands, his hips. 

“You came back.” Jason breathes out reverently against warm skin, trailing his lips along a slender neck.

It feels like an eternity until he tears himself away from the heat of that skin long enough to look Ric in the face, those normally electric eyes are hazy but still mesmerizingly bright in the low lamplight. When the other man inclines his head, Jason can’t help focusing on the reddening marks he’s already left in his wake. 

“Well, would you look at that?” His voice is hoarse, breathless, and Jason wants to keep stealing every last bit of that air until Ric _needs_ him just to keep breathing, just the way Jason needs him. “Seems like I did, handsome.”

Ric lets out the sweetest sounds, as he’s rocking leather-clad hips against Jason’s thigh, it’s the most out of sorts Jason thinks he’s ever seen him. Ric lets his head hit the wall, “ _Shit,_ ” is all he murmurs sharp and wound up, before yanking Jason down for another one of those soul-shattering kisses. 

(He practically uses his hair like a damn leash, it turns Jason on more than he’d ever admit in polite company.)

Jason’s in so far over his head, it’s not even funny anymore, he’s totally submerged, _drowning_ , and he thinks he’d die for this man. He thinks he’d die to _keep_ both of these men.

Ric holds onto him tight when Jason hikes him up by his thighs and takes control of the pace. He’s not sure how they get there, but before he knows it, he finds himself rummaging clumsily through the nightstand drawer, keeping Ric pressed flush up against the wall, Jason swears he hears him _whine_. The noise he lets out when Jason works a finger inside him is heavenly, he could replay it in the back of his brain forever. Ric hides his face in his shoulder while Jason’s fingering him open, toes curling and uncurling against his back--he’s gotten a lot of practice these days, again, Dick _is_ a bit of a slave driver.

“C’mon baby, don’t hide from me.” Ric shakes apart against him as Jason hooks his fingers deep inside, Jason knows he finds what he’s looking for because Ric does that thing where his jaw clenches and his entire body jerks. Deviously, he continues to tease the spot, delighting in the way the muscles in Ric’s chest jump and shudder, with every movement.  
  


“... Please? Went two weeks without you, R, miss those crystal blues.” He mumbles gruffly, heart-pounding when those eyes finally flutter open again, glassy and dazed.  
  


“... I said I wouldn’t leave.”  
  
  
Jason freezes, it’s like his heart drops all the way down to his stomach. It’s the worst feeling in the world, the thought of _either of them_ thinking for a second he’d try and tie them down, even in one of his moments of vulnerability. It’s shameful, it’s _weak_ , only cowards lock the things they love in cages, Jason would know, he’s seen Willis do the same thing to his Ma growing up again and again.  
  


“ _Ric,_ when I said that I didn’t mean—”  
  
  
“I _said_ I’d _stay_ …” Ric mumbles, pausing as he presses his forehead to Jason’s, “I broke your desk lamp.”  
  


Jason cups one of his cheeks, a somewhat dazed laugh on his lips, “You really think I care about the damn _desk lamp_ , when I’ve got you here right where I want you, sugar?” 

Ric, kisses over his palm, before, carefully, he meets Jason’s eyes, insistent, “I broke your desk lamp. I left. I deserve it.” Jason frowns gearing up to argue in kind, when, suddenly, he catches sight of Ric’s expression, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, his blown wide pupils, how he’s still absently rocking against Jason’s stalled fingers inside of him. It gives Jason pause. “... Remember those cuffs Dick showed you?”

Something finally goes _click_ in his brain.

“You mean... like what we talked about?”

Ric nods, eyes flickering away, almost in shame—it twists Jason up inside, he wishes he could break whoever made him feel this way. “’ S the only way I can relax.” And Jason closes his eyes and counts backward from twenty; the silence in the room is deafening, Ric starts shrinking in on himself. “I can just ask Dick to take me down later if you don’t feel ready--”

Jason cuts him off, takes every last bit of his breath away with a rough, sloppy, kiss. It’s yet another thing he’s enamored with, there’s just something about seeing Ric’s dazed-out expression when he’s out of breath and gasping that he can’t get enough of. The very sight of it is dangerous, addictive, like every fiber of Jason’s being wants to stay a week with his hands in Ric’s hair, taking his everything until he’s memorized the taste. He hesitates when he pulls back, licks his lips of the lingering taste, and reminds himself: **Control.**

“... How do you think you need to be punished, then, sweetheart?”

The sentiment gets him a scoff, “Wasn’t aware that I had to be any _clearer_.” Ric spits, playing up all his jagged edges, but Jason sees through him. In a way, Ric’s an easier read than Dick is--straight forward, blunt, direct, _so_ direct it’s a wonder him and Jason didn’t buttheads sooner.   
  


~~Jason normally doesn’t like people that remind him of himself.  
  
~~

On a whim, he pinches Ric’s tongue between his index finger and his thumb, mesmerized by the way it makes Ric’s eyes go all hazy and unfocused, “Thought you were making something up to me, baby? That ain’t no right way to apologize—show me your manners, I know you got ‘em.” 

Ric goes limp against him, surrendering, the amount of power the action yields is daunting in a way where it leaves Jason’s heart racing. But, somehow, it’s also reassuring, being what Ric needs, right here, at this moment; slipping into the role is more comfortable than Jason thought it’d be. 

“... Please?” Ric mumbles clumsily around Jason’s fingers in his mouth, after a lengthy bit of hesitation, “Missed you too Jase, _please._ ” And Jason takes in the haphazard way that form-fitting tank is pressed up past that tanned bare chest and the layer of glistening sweat coating Ric’s skin. There’s something unbearably erotic about the sound he makes when Jason effortlessly hikes him up further in his arms and carries him the rest of the way to the bed, it drives him nuts.

The real reward, though? Those come in form of finally securing a black leather cuff around flexible wrists and the full-body shudder that seems to shoot through Ric once they’re fully fastened in place. The sight does certain _things_ to Jason’s libido that doesn’t have the brain space to unpack right now.

“Rattle off some colors for me, babe.”

Ric parrots the colors back in a sure tone, his erection is straining in his briefs: “Red, black, blue.” 

_Stop. Ease up. Go._

(He recalls Dick’s mischievous smile when he’d whispered the suggestion in Jason’s ear one lazy morning: _“It’d be cute.”_ Jason has a sneaking suspicion that the older twin is just unbearably sentimental, but lately, he’s found he’s far too fond of Dick to make him want for much of anything.)

Jason runs his hands up and down Ric’s bare thighs, loving the way he reacts to his touch alone. It’s usually _both_ twins in bed with him, driving him to the edge, pulling him into their pace--it feels like Jason never _really_ gets to appreciate them individually, now that he thinks about it.

Because they’re always together, always tethered at the hip, aren’t they? A tried and true pair that he’s been falling for since day one.

He half forgets how to breathe when he sinks down between Ric’s legs and _takes._ It’s almost humbling, that Ric even trusts him enough to let Jason see him with all of his rounded corners, to watch the way his gaze checks out whenever he’s being eaten out _just right_.

Jason hoards the expressions, commits them all to memory like he might lose everything tomorrow.

A part of him wonders if Ric does something similar.

Jason can only just make out a shock of a blue ring around Ric’s pupils by the time he breaks away to allow them both a moment to breathe, Ric’s lips are bright red from how hard he’s been chewing them to muffle his cries. Jason has to restrain himself from biting them until they’re bloody. Instead of feeding the urge, he sits back on his haunches, appraising the way Ric trembles and whimpers when he’s stopped holding back.

“... You’re not being punished for leaving me.” Jason says, firmly, proud of himself for not sounding as out of sorts as he feels.

He watches as thick eyebrows knit in confusion, chased immediately by a wave of stubborn offense. “ _But I--_ ”

“You broke my lamp,” Jason smoothly interrupts as Ric falls abruptly silent. “You’re gonna have to make up for that. Me, punishing you for needing space is _never_ acceptable. I piss you off? You take a walk, you run off to cool down for as long as you need, you can even break this whole thing we’ve got together apart and I’ll make sure not a soul from my end gives you a lick of trouble,” he keeps his gaze careful and steady, his voice unyielding as he keeps Ric’s focus.

“You come, you go—as you please and you are _never_ obligated to stay when you feel trapped or upset, got it?” Ric looks away, but Jason stops the action in its tracks, gripping his chin in an insistent grip and guiding him back to meet his gaze again, “That wasn’t an answer, sugar. C’mon, you’re good ain’t you? So gimme an honest one.” He feels Ric’s shudder at the word ‘good’, eyes following the way miles of solid muscle wind and release.

He’s gorgeous. How could Jason have _ever_ willingly hurt him?

Ric ever so carefully, licks his lips, watching Jason in a way that reminds him of a cat calculating a leap, “...Right.” Jason quirks up a wordless eyebrow, a part of him incensed by the way Ric inhales sharply, rolls back his neck and flutters those pretty raven eyelashes.  
  


“—I mean, yes, _Boss_. Understood, Boss.”   
  


It’s Jason’s turn to blank out. His fingers flexing and clenching against the bedsheets as he draws in a deep breath, just to even himself out. There’s something about being called ‘Boss’ in this setting that’s light years away from how Ric normally calls him on the job, it sets his blood ablaze, ticks off several boxes in Jason’s brain he didn’t even know he _had_. It’s the kind of kick that has his grip tightening on the back of Ric’s thighs and bending him as far as he’ll go—which, as it turns out, is a hell of a lot.

Ric’s knees touch the mattress and there’s not even a lick of discomfort on his features--there’s only that confused owlish blink when Jason pauses in surprise and the way Ric keens with his legs hooked around Jason’s shoulders. It’s insane sometimes, how flexible they are.

“You’re gonna kill me dead, one day, baby,” Jason says, breathing out a dazed laugh; a part of him purrs, when Ric doesn’t even need to be told to hold the position as Jason stops to slick up his cock with the leftover lube. “Gimme a color?”

“—Blue. _Please._ ” Ric says, harried and impatient before he bites down on his lip and murmurs something completely life-ruining: “Punish me till I’m _sobbing_ , Boss.” 

Jason forces himself not to blink as he presses into him at a controlled pace, watching as that already out of sorts expression crumbles. He can’t restrain the urge to tangle his fingers in Ric’s hair and yank backward, so he doesn’t—the crane of that pretty slender neck is the stuff of fairytales. As he goes about sucking more marks into the skin Jason quickly finds he can’t be bothered with the morning’s consequences. 

“Never knew you were this pretty when you’re floatin’ on air, baby.” A wanton moan leaves raw lips as Ric’s head tilts back against the bedsheets, his eyes are fittingly black now, not a hint of blue insight, it pings several things inside Jason that make him want to see how far he can go. He’s out of sorts but still keeps his composure. 

  
That won’t do.   
  


Jason winds back his hips and snaps forward, and Ric jerks against him like a shot of electricity’s just gone down his spine. He relishes in the way Ric’s thighs twitch and strain, kept pressed into the mattress by his grip on his knees. The tight heat around him’s fit to turn Jason’s brain to mush. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me.”

He does it again, watching the moment the surprise in him wears off and Ric’s face melts, Jason sets a sharp, brutal rhythm, Ric’s shoulders and upper muscles writhe and strain against the leather restraints. His skin is glistening, Jason leans forward to tease a pierced nipple dragging teeth--something he hasn’t tried yet, not when Ric has his studs in. 

Ric lets out a muffled shout, every last one of his muscles tensing up as the chain attaching him to the bed pulls taut. His eyes are wide as his chest heaves, Jason starts at the strong reaction--listens for the word, but doesn’t hear it. He goes back to work on the same sensitive nub ears ringing with Ric’s piercing shouts and warbling pleas as he drives into that tight heat. 

“You did somethin’ real bad. Breaking my property like that…. you ought’a be taught a lesson.” Jason inhales, heart racing as Ric’s pleas get increasingly incoherent and disjointed--he responds by teasing the other stud with his tongue, biting down just to relish at the way it just leaves Ric an utter mess. He tightens his grip around straining thighs, “But you’d like that, wouldn’ you? Me driving you over the edge, again an’ again, till you don’t even know your own name? Cause you’re just that needy, ain’t you, kitten…? Wouldn’t even be much of a punishment.” Jason’s breath is uneven now, just like his jagged pace. ‘Kitten’, yes, that’s fitting. He likes that one. 

(Being in charge--truly in charge--is a new thing, but it’s not a _bad_ type of new, Jason decides, watching Ric fall apart is always worth it.)

Ric’s hands clench into fists above his head, body rocking with Jason’s thrusts. He’s mouthing something, over and over again with his eyes squeezed shut tight: _Please, please, please…_

His eyes follow the way every muscle in Ric’s body clenches when he gets close, the way his eyes snap open and his lips part and shake as his nails dig into his palms again. —Normally he’d bite into Jason’s collarbone instead to muffle himself, Jason knows, he’s seen the bruises in the mirror to prove it. This time, however, Ric arches off the bed with a pitched, wordless _keen_ , blinking hard and fast as he whimpers his way through his orgasm. 

Jason slows, fingers pressing up through dark hair, and against tear-stained cheeks, Ric lets out a needy sound he’s never heard before, turning his face into Jason’s palm as his body falls lax on the bedsheets. “... You still with me sweetheart?”

Ric nods, legs trembling over his shoulders, toes twitching and curling, “Yes, Boss. Always.”

  
“Gimme a color.”   
  


“Bu…” Ric slurs as Jason rocks and brushes against that overstimulated bundle of nerves inside him, when he meets Jason’s eyes his own are feverous and gleaming, “ _Blue_ , Boss.” 

(Jason isn’t sure why he expected anything different—his strays are utterly insatiable, after all.)

♤  
  
  


“Ricardas.”  
  


Jason pauses from where he’s offering a cool water bottle to Ric’s lips. The murmured word doesn’t register at first, he’s too busy mentally fretting over the indents on Ric’s wrists, the internet said it wasn’t anything to worry about but, either way, Jason blinks.

“... What did you just say?” 

Ric hums, crawling the rest of the way onto Jason’s lap forgoing the water bottle, his arms are loose and possessive around his shoulders. Something fond and soft quirks up his lips as he cocks his head, “My full name—it’s Ricardas. You wanted to know, so there it is. My middle name's,” Jason puts a hand over his mouth, taking a few moments to compose himself.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret just because we had some stellar makeup sex, babe,” Jason starts, hoping to stop this in its tracks before it gets _too_ real for comfort, but he can already feel the frown against his palm. 

Ric slowly removes his hand, lacing their fingers together, “My middle name is Mary—after my mother. My birthday’s the first day of Spring.” He continues evenly, not to be daunted; his eyes are unnervingly steady, it makes Jason uneasy. “I _love_ you.” 

“Don’t—”  
  
“I do. I’m serious about this, about you.”

Jason falls silent, he needs to close his eyes for a few moments, Ric’s arms tighten around his neck. “‘Serious’, you keep _saying_ that but not elaborating, We don’t work— _this_ can’t work. How can I get serious when I still think I’ll wake up and you and Dick’ll just be gone tomorrow?” His skin crawls, he wants to get up and pace the room, but Ric’s still on top of him and Jason for the life of him can’t bring himself to disturb him. Instead, his treacherous, contradicting arms tighten around a familiar waist, “And look, I’m not talking about you bolting for two weeks when we have a fallout, I mean _for real_. Just vanishing on me. I don’t even know where you’re from—”

“We were born on the road, traveled Europe as kids.” 

“Not what I mean, baby.” Jason softens up his voice, runs his fingers through Ric’s hair, watching the way he melts between his fingers just like soft cream.

Ric bows his head until it’s resting against Jason’s collarbone, he exhales. “... Then you’ll just have to trust us.” He murmurs.  
  
Something bitter twists on Jason's taste buds at that, he scoffs. “Trust ain’t exactly something _any_ of us are used to, sugar. Just a feeling.” The sarcasm probably isn’t necessary—he gets a chiding flick against his chest for his trouble. 

“It means I’m _with_ you. I’m yours and you’re mine.” Ric’s lips are warm, when they press against Jason’s skin, “Boss— _Jase_ , you’ve got my loyalty as long as you need for it, I’d walk down to hell barefoot on coals of fire for you. And I’d play the lyre while I did it.” Jason can tell he means it, but the overwhelming dedication only serves to make him frown, cupping Ric’s cheeks.  
  
“And I’d never ask you to.” His voice leaves no room for nonsense, Jason would stroll down to hell with his head held high if it meant keeping what’s his out of harm's way. Because they _were_ his—his strays, his beauties, his own personal femme fatales that’ll be the death of him one day.

_His._

“That’s the point, see? I wanna make Gotham a place where _neither of us_ needs to make that choice.” He trails his lips along Ric’s collar, flips them over so he’s on top. Ric blinks up at him with clear eyes, “I’ll rebuild Gotham from the ground up with you and Dick as my center. I’ll make this a place worth living in, not just for me anymore. For us.”

It’s as close to an ‘I love you’ as Jason thinks he can get right now. He holds his breath, when Ric stays maddeningly silent, arms tightening around his shoulders, “... Us as the center?” He eventually prods.

“Yeah,” Jason dips in close, burying his face into Ric’s neck, “I’ve never felt more grounded than I have with you. You keep me in check, Dick keeps me calm.” Jason can’t look at him, so he presses kisses against Ric’s bare shoulders instead, hands wandering along miles of unwound muscle. A part of him wishes he had the energy to go again, because right now all he wants to do is sink in between Ric’s legs and break him down like a high school essay. He realizes how distracted he’s gotten when Ric’s voice starts hitching, and his nails start biting into Jason’s shoulder blades. His eyes are glassy and confused when Jason stops his roaming fingers to cup both his cheeks.

It’s not intentional. Ric’s just that distracting. 

“I’ll do better,” he says, evenly.

Ric leans into one of his palms, closes his eyes and carefully reels Jason down until their foreheads are touching. 

“We both will.”

♤♤♤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: This is a three parter now!  
> Bad news: oh god this is a three parter now


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes to a startling realization about old habits and breaking them.

♡

The urge to know more about them burns like molten magma eating away at his bones, it puts his teeth on edge–simply because Jason can’t recall a time when he’s wanted to just wholly, truly _know_ someone. It’s always been about the end goal, from when he swore to Ma’s ashes and every last person in Gotham who spat at the filthy drug-running street kid, that one day he’d make sure they all knew his name whether they wanted to or not. 

And yet, here these two were, throwing a wrench in Jason’s plans, hammering their way into his heart crack by fracturing crack at a time–it’s a subtle creeping sort of invasion, the kind he has to look between the lines to see. Somedays Jason catches himself mentally redrafting the plans he’s had for years to make room for three; the very thought of letting them in long term is still nerve-wracking, but not as impossible or near _horrifying_ as it used to be. Because how can it be? With Ric constantly watching Jason’s back, proving himself again and again? With Dick’s honeypot sweet hustler’s smile that drags in investors old and new with the gravitational pull of a black hole and the brightness of a supernova? It’s a losing battle from the start. His blowout argument with Ric had lit a fire under his ass, teaching Jason just how big a chunk of himself would just be _gone_ if even one of them really did decide to up and leave one day.

The part of him that’s logical says to pull away, reassess, recalibrate—but there’s also an even larger, _louder,_ part of Jason that loves the thrill he gets whenever Ric slams him into a grimy alley wall and just _takes_ after a long night of shipment negotiations. There’re parts of him that can’t begin to deny the way his blood lights up whenever Dick’s nails dig into his skin and carve away at him like he’ll go _mad_ without the anchor.

They’re all a little lost in each other, he thinks.  
  
Whatever this thing is that’s joining them, deep down Jason can’t fight feeling that it’ll probably crash and burn one day. But really? He could care less. He’ll take the brunt of it, unmake himself into something better and throw himself back into their intoxicating inferno time and time again.

Jason’s always hated the kind of cold Gotham attracts, after all.

(There’s a lot he’d do to keep his twin devils, perhaps _too much_.)

“Dick is kind of closed off, don’t you think?” 

Ric looks up from his coffee, giving Jason a thoughtful size up with sharp curious eyes, before scoffing and taking another sip. “... Well, yeah. You’re only noticing now?”

The confirmation is a relief—that no, he’s _not_ paranoid, he’d guessed it right, something that’d been wound tight inside of Jason's chest eases as he furrows his eyebrows, “I… I thought he was really open at first, wears his heart on his sleeve you know? He’s not a _liar_ , I don’t think. But the longer I spend time around him,”

“—The more you sense you’re only getting the pieces of the puzzle he wants you to see?” Ric finishes, nonchalant, even as Jason blows out a harsh breath through his teeth. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Dick’s like that with everyone.”

Jason rests his chin on his elbows, brows knitting tightly above his forehead, “It’s been bugging me--I don’t know how to explain it, he’s cheerful, outgoing, bright...” He bites his cheek, “Like a ball of… sunshine?” _‘Sunshine’–that’s a good way to describe the warmth that invades Jason’s chest every time he sees that smile._ “But he’s so distant at the same time.”

“So? _I’m_ distant.”  
  
“No, you just don’t trust easily, there’s a difference,” Jason’s lips purse as he drums his fingers along the tabletop, “I never get the impression that you’re hiding a whole other self behind that poker face of yours. You’re direct, blunt, stoic, but you’re not ‘distant’.”

Ric hums absently, before stretching his hands over his head, cracking his back. “... _Uh-huh._ I'll be nice and assume those were all compliments, pup. Sounds like you’ve been thinking a lot about this.”

 _Because you’re all I think about_. 

“Not really, Just observant.” Jason lies.

Ric rolls his eyes, a smug smile quirking his lips, “ _Liar, liar_. That’s a bad habit to keep, Boss. Do better.” Jason’s _really_ growing to hate when Ric sees through him like that, both twins are getting unnervingly good at that. Ric especially’s been getting better and better at it lately since he’s let down his spikes. 

It makes Jason feel a certain way. He’s been trying not to dwell about it. 

“Dick’s the type of person to push back with _all his might_ if you try to bully him into leaning on you. He’s stubborn like a bull.” Ric rolls his eyes, stirring his coffee, “He even pulls that shit with _me_ sometimes, just let him be.” 

Jason can only scowl as he just takes a very keen interest in his breakfast. 

“You’re exaggerating.” 

Ric’s smile turns rueful then, as though recalling something unpleasant, Jason’s gut twists several ways as the older man looks somewhere far off. “Like I keep saying—sure wish I was that green.” 

♡♡♡

The more Jason learns about the twins and their many, many tells, the more _they_ learn about _his_ —it’s becoming a bit of a problem. 

Jason’s not used to people caring enough to know him, he’s not used to a lot of things--waking up warm in the mornings, not feeling the need to run on manic laser-focused energy 24/7, cooking with someone else in mind, being _at ease_ … Needless to say, the changes in priorities take a bit to get used to. Dick knows his insecurities and reassures him in a quiet but steady voice in the dead of night when Jason’s skin is crawling too much to allow his brain to rest. Ric knows about how reckless he gets when kids are involved. He’s told them about _Mom_. The sheer amount of vulnerability he gives up to these two on a day to day basis makes Jason shudder in a way that he, in part, blames on the guarded street kid he used to be. 

After all—once you let people in, it’s easy for them to find the chinks in your armor, easier for them to find the ammunition to _hurt_. But Jason is terribly fond of his strays; irrevocably, terribly, insatiably, _fond_. 

And the real kicker? He’s known the twins for at least the summer and it still feels like he doesn’t know them all that well at all. Ric opens up after their argument like a locked chest that Jason’s finally found the key to, it shows in the off-handed things he shares about his likes and dislikes, vague mentions about his time in Europe, his _childhood._ In comparison, however, Dick doesn’t even budge an inch. He’s less like a locked box and more in line with an _iron fortress_ , and Jason can’t even get a foothold on the wall surrounding it because Dick just keeps knocking back the metaphorical arrows with that same sugary sweet smile on his face whilst releasing volley after volley every time he tries.

It’s frustrating and mind-boggling in ways that are fit to drive him mad.

Because see? Jason has Ric’s trust, his heart, his love, and against all odds, his loyalty—the knowledge still floors him most days, of just how much power Ric’s willingly _given_ him. And yet he’d still remained unbending and firm when it came to protecting Dick’s secrets. Even if Jason feels like if he widdles Ric down enough, says the right words, he could eventually squeeze out what he’s looking for. At the end of the day, he just plain doesn’t _want to_. Not in that way. He respects him too much.

A part of Jason recoils at the thought of taking advantage of Ric’s trust, if only for the sole factor that he’d feel just as betrayed in Ric’s shoes if things were flipped, if not even more so. (Jason getting less information while being direct about his motives, was a far better deal than hurting Ric again just because he’s an emotionally stunted asshole with mild to major control issues, after all.)

So, he decides to be transparent—at least when he’s digging for answers to Ric’s face. 

The intel he gains is always minimal, but picking apart Ric’s cagey statements Jason had managed to glean that: One; the Grayson twins had been traveling together for at least several years before winding up at Jason’s casino, perhaps even longer. Two; they used to live in Gotham at some point or another, at least during their childhood. And three; they’re both running from something. Jason’s not sure what yet. That last one’s just a result of some good old fashioned deduction on his end. It’s in the way Ric always grits his teeth whenever he's forced to actively negotiate with Dent or Roman. It’s in the flinch that rides Dick’s shoulders and sets his teeth on edge whenever the Gotham morning news comes on post a recent confrontation between the Bat and one of Arkham’s star inmates. 

Again, it’s the little things.

See, Jason doesn’t fear the Bat’s Rouges, as far as he’s concerned they’re nothing—less than that, even, a _nuisance_. And knowing that his lack of fear would just drive each and every last one of those freaks in Arkham off their rockers just _warms_ the cockles of his cold, dead, heart. 

So, no, Jason’s not afraid, but he thinks the _twins_ might be. Not in the traditional sense of the word, mind you. It’s more as if they’re terrified _for_ him like they’re constantly waiting for the next unlucky roll of the die—and Jason still hasn’t decided what he’s supposed to do with that.

“Forgot to tell you, R—weapon shipment ‘s been delayed,'' Jason says, when their limbs are all tangled together on the couch one night, some old-timey war movie playing in the backdrop. Dick isn’t paying attention, busy scrawling numbers into a physical log book that makes Jason’s brain hurt to even look at, while Ric is busy tacking away at his work PDA. This was supposed to be a movie date night… or so Jason originally assumed, but over these past months, he’s quickly found that all of them are very similar animals when it comes to overwork. Efficient, yes, but not terribly functional when separating ‘work’ from ‘play’. 

(At-home dates were a lost cause, Jason’s starting to suspect. This is the fifth movie night they’ve tried as a unit in a row where both twins just ended up working through the movie.) 

Not that _he’s_ any better, Jason got a map of Gotham spread out on the coffee table, a red ink pen in hand, physically marking out the changing territory lines again in wake of yet _another_ mess, curtesy of Arkham’s finest during yet another troublesome Halloween fiasco last week. _Fuck Jonathan Crane, seriously._ He grumbles his grievances verbally as he marks up the whole of west Gotham, grinding the tip of his pen with his teeth.

“Was it the Russians again?” Ric asks, fingers not even pausing, “What do I need to move around—”  
  
“ _No_ , no, not this time.” And Jason lets out a long, suffering sigh because he knows what’s coming, “We’ve been getting hit with more and more _Bat_ issues lately.” 

Ric goes very still, Jason doesn’t even need to turn to his right to see why he can’t hear the methodical scratch of Dick’s pencil against the logbook pages anymore. 

“... Ah.” He hates bringing up the Bat, because it never fails to make Ric’s voice drop into something low and vulnerable. It’s one of those ticks Jason’s, for once, glad he doesn’t have the context behind because he’s not sure he wanted to know the kind of context that made _Ric_ shrink into his own skin. “That’ll put a wrench in things, we’re in need of stock.”

There’s a fine tremor to his voice that evens out the longer Ric goes on, “We'll have to move our usual drop off locations and do some house cleaning to figure out the squealer, I’ll take care of it.”

His hands are twitching, it’s then that Jason registers Dick sitting up from his sprawl over both of them, reaching out to give Ric’s fingers an encouraging squeeze, “I’ll adjust this month’s budget for the delay.” 

(It’s hardest to read them in moments like these because they always say so much without saying anything at all.)  
  


♡

_Complicated._

Dick thinks as he watches Jason work the casino floor from where he’s reclined on one of the sofas. It’s been months since he and Ric have made their nests here, and it's getting more and more permanent by the day, it makes Dick uneasy how _at ease_ he feels. Everything about Jason Todd is complicated, which rankles Dick’s nerves in ways he doesn’t expect— he’s usually _good_ with people. Jason ought to be no different and yet he just keeps on surprising Dick at every turn before he can even catch his footing, because, see? Jason has this bad habit of going at his problems every which way except for forwards, despite ultimately being a direct person; Dick can take a few guesses on what made him that way. Gotham’s streets are a lot of things, and ‘kind’ wasn’t one of them. 

(Sometimes, in the mornings he’ll catch himself tracing the deep scars etched so purposefully into Jason’s skin, it makes Dick uncomfortable, how he’s got about as much as him and Ric combined...)

“I told you so.” Dick blinks out of his daze, eyes snapping back towards a familiar voice, his nose crinkles as he meets a pair of equally electric irises.

“Rickie, I thought there was supposed to be a shipment coming in tonight.” 

“Finished early, thought I’d come and spend time around you for once since I haven’t had the time lately.” And Ric, the absolute bastard, shoots him a knowing smirk.

“We see each other daily,” Dick scoffs but doesn’t protest when Ric perches on the stark white sofa beside him, eyes following Jay across the floor. Something crawls under Dick’s skin, he doesn’t know what it is, so he just frowns and stubbornly refuses to meet Ric’s piercing gaze. “Don’t let _me_ keep you, don’t you have underlings to keep in check? Reports to deliver?”

Ric doesn’t even flinch at the nasty tone, just _stares_. “... You’re _not_ picking a fight with me. Not over this. Not tonight.” The words are so firm and even, it makes Dick’s cheeks fill with an ashamed heat, he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth before he refocuses on Jay again.  
  
“Good thing that’s not what I’m doing then.” Dick tries not to scowl—he’s _fine_. He’s rational, completely in control of his emotions this time around, he can pull away from this… whatever ‘this’ is, anytime he wants. 

  
_He’s fine._

All Ric does is shrug, adjusting Jay’s suit jacket, tossed haphazardly over his shoulders, “Getting a little possessive there, big brother? Dare I say, _defensive_?” He shoots Dick an infuriating sort of grin, “You still haven’t admitted it, yet…. Have you?” 

And Dick’s burning urge to drag his cheeky, know-it-all ass to the training mats then is every bit as feral and primal as it was when they were both two hotheaded teens in Gotham’s all-encompassing shadow. But alas, there are no training mats here to work out Dick’s frustrations, only increasingly mundane yoga tapes and finances.

(Sometimes he’s jealous of Ric’s more active nightlife. Dick’s never been the type to like sitting pretty after all.) 

“Buzz off Ric.” He says, instead.

“... I see now,” Ric gives him a considerate look for a moment, then, he drops his voice low, mindful of listening ears. “Feeling put off-balance because the Bat’s bearing down harder? You know _you’re_ the one who tied us all together, can’t take that back just because you’re feeling sore about things getting too—”  
  
“ _I don’t wanna hear it._ ”

Ric pauses again, but this time rolls his eyes, Dick can’t bring himself to cultivate the frustrated anger in his chest, not when Ric’s fingers move to press and comb through his hair. It has a way of just blowing the wind straight out of his sails. “... You’re making Jase nervous, pull your damn act together.” 

“... I know.” Slowly, surely, his tightly wound muscles begin to slump, as he exhales, _“_ _Hell_ , I know. He’s just so,”

“—Like him?”

Dick flinches and snaps back: “... He’s _not_.” His eyes tentatively sliding in the direction of where Jason’s chatting around with a few old money Gothamites, “He’s passionate, strong, stubborn... He’s lots of things, but he’s different from ‘him’ in the ways that matter… I think.”

When he finally turns to meet Ric’s eyes he seems almost amused, “...Told you so.” 

Dick shoves at him, “Shuddup.”

♡♡♡

Jason usually takes Dick to the galas. 

Ric doesn’t like public events--the suits and the people make him irritable, leaving every last hair on his nape raising in rejection; the fake smiles and the frankly ridiculous amount of wealth based posturing aren’t something he’s keen to waste his time on, or so he’s informed Jason, again and again, every time he offers to take him out. He's too honest a person to enjoy Gotham’s brand of cut-throat socialite element, nothing Ric Grayson hates more than being thrown into a den of liars and bastards, and Gotham’s upper crust of corruption and bluebloods had that in spades. Jason’s too steeped in the darkness and the filth to so much as bat an eye anymore--but Ric has less patience. Ric is _better._ Life’s too short to waste his time on people who haven’t earned his loyalty, the types of people who sit in their ivory towers refusing to get their hands dirty; and the Gotham underbelly, for better or for worse, never _lied_ about what it was. So, that’s what he gravitates towards, Jason gets it. Honestly, the two of them are so much alike it’s uncanny. 

It’s one of those things about Ric that makes Jason go soft in ways he’d never admit outside of intimate company.

Dick, on the other hand, is a completely different beast; he slips into the public persona of the spoiled rotten significant other like it’s a second skin. The first time he does it, it takes Jason the better half of the hour trying to re-learn that pace and how to act around him—he still swears the man draws people in like a vortex, keeps them there in an overwhelmingly charismatic vice. His smiles are utterly dazzling in a mind-numbing type of way, Jason’s potential business partners only seem to grow with every event Dick runs support with. It’s not as shocking as it should be. Jason was pulled right into that same orbit too from day one, after all. 

Watching Dick work never fails to remind Jason that he’s dating an honest to god honeytrap and somehow he’s coming out firmly on the side of the winners. ~~( _Christ_ , Dick has every last one of Jason’s bank account routing numbers, his current SSN, _and_ his tax information when did _that_ happen?) ~~

Every time Jason tries to track the past five months or so it’s like he comes up short at the equivalent of a brick wall. He can hum and haw over the wall all he wants but he still can’t pinpoint exactly when the switch flipped in his brain and two entire human beings became fully integrated into his largely solitary lifestyle. Hell, Jason _likes_ being alone, he likes his space, he used to be satisfied with coming home to an empty apartment or safehouse and reorganizing his schedule for his respective night and day jobs. He wouldn’t call it therapeutic but hey, Jason likes routine and nothing screams routine louder than reworking your greater gang’s hierarchy from the ground up for four hours an afternoon. 

Strange how quickly even the most abstract concept of being alone can turn into a terrifying thought.

It doesn’t help at all that lately Jason's been slacking a bit on the public relations side of things in favor of stabilizing his nightlife. Dick had convinced him—or guilted him depending on who you asked—into actually showing up to this one. They needed donors, and donors liked public appearances and being able to put a face to who their money was going to. And also... Well, Jason’s been spending a lot of time with Ric lately, it’s been weeks since he and Dick had a date night that wasn’t just Jason cooking dinner then being pulled off to bed by greedy hands and wandering touches. 

Which brought Jason to his current predicament, with Dick happily perched next to him in one of his limousines, the one he uses specifically for functions like these. Jason can’t help admiring how remarkably steady Dick keeps his hand as he applies another layer of gloss across his bottom lip. 

“You doing eyeliner, tonight?” Dick turns to look at him popping the top back on his gloss, his eyes crinkle with his smile as he hums.

“Don’t think this is an eyeliner-type outfit, it’s a charity gala, not a fashion show.” Dick minds, reaching up to smooth back a stubborn strand of hair away from Jason’s face. 

“Baby, you always look like you’re in a fashion show.”

Dick’s lips uptick, he smooths a hand along Jason’s jaw, cupping his chin, “... Flatterer. I don’t have a lick of fashion sense.” It’s a bald-faced lie, Jason can tell by the amused twinkle in those blue eyes. 

Dick looks good in anything he wears, from the ugliest patterns to the most fashionable high-end outfits that wouldn’t look out of place on an actual runway. Even now, Jason’s distracted by the midnight blue leotard Dick’s wearing tonight; it’s an open-chest, sleeveless bodysuit with lace detail that leaves Jason _weak_ —both indecent and decent in the same vein. Classy in a way only somewhere like Gotham’s upper crust society, permanently fixated on the aesthetic 50s as they are, would ever tolerate. The feather boa is a mercy, the elegant navy fluff covering Dick’s shoulders is the only thing keeping Jason from leaning over and giving Dick a fresh necklace of lovebites just in time to show off for Gotham’s upper crust. 

“I’ll give you that most people would sooner wear _pants_ with their bodysuits instead of stockings.” Jason chides, palms fitting themselves around Dick’s sides, reeling him forward. “You’ll make me rip ‘em end to end one day.” 

That gets him an amused head tilt as Dick leans into him, fingers tangling in Jason’s curls, his smile is thin-lipped and mischievous, “Maybe that’s just what I’m waiting for, pup.” 

_Tap. Tap._

Jason wrenches himself out of the fog that’d overtaken his mind, blood rushing to his cheeks. Dick pouts at the tinted window but doesn’t relinquish his hold even when Jason’s hands fly off of his waist as though burned. He couldn’t scramble away if he _wanted_ to, somehow Dick’s managed to press him into one of the side doors.   
  
“Someone is _outside,_ ” Jason hisses, urgently. 

“You own the limo, sweetie. No need to be so skittish.” Jason shudders as clever hands comb up through his bangs and curls, almost sinuously. Dick’s grin reminds him of a predator’s.

“And you know…” Dick’s voice drops low, against the shell of his ear, Jason’s toes curl in his dress boots, “I love an audience. You should really indulge me some time.”

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

This time Dick relinquishes his hold with a put upon sigh, sprawling rather dramatically across Jason’s person to click the button that brings down the limo’s window. “Can we help you?” Dick’s smile is blinding, even from the awkward angle Jason spies him at. Their driver peers through the opening with trepidation, looking for all the world that he wishes he could be anywhere else but trapped in Dick’s unnerving gaze; the driver is in his early 30s, large, built like a brick with a crooked nose—a recent hire. Jason struggles to recall his name. _Something with a D..._

“It’s just,” the man clears his throat, shifts in his suit before speaking up with a thicker Gothamite twang, “we’ve arrived boss. Thought I’d let you know.”

“No, thank you,” Jason pauses, “... Davidson, we’ll be back out in roughly several or so.” He thinks he must get it right because the man nods stiffly in response.

Jason’s about to get up when Dick suddenly sinks his hands into his back pockets, it hardly even makes him flinch. He’s grown unsettlingly used to Dick’s more casual touches, it's all about the mindless affection and the _non-_ sexual contact that lowers Jason’s guard, makes him weak. Besides, it’s not even a groping touch, Jason’s suspicions are only confirmed when Dick fishes out his wallet with a faint _ah-hah_ on his smug lips. 

He takes out a fifty from the worn black leather and hands it off to Davidson, all smiles, he’s cute when he smiles, Jason can’t help hopelessly admiring. “Buy yourself a nice dinner, while we’re gone, Davey! Appreciate the service as always.”

Davidson straightens as he takes the bill in hand, with a stiff, militant nod, “Thanks, Blue, ‘preciate the generosity, you two gonna be needin’ anything else before I leave ya’ to it?”

“No, Davidson, like Dick said, go treat yourself to something nice.” Jason arcs an eyebrow, Davidson nods a bit more hurriedly and walks back around to the driver’s side of the limo. Dick splays his hands over Jason’s chest, pushing himself up into a sitting position before taking a moment to stretch. When he cranes his neck, Jason takes note of that glowing immaculate skin. —The hickeys from last week have faded, Jason has half a mind to put them back where they belong.

Their eyes meet just as Dick is rolling his neck for the third time, a grin splits glossed up lips, electric blues narrow in barely disguised mischief. “What are you waiting on, sweetheart? We’ve got a party to get to.”

  
♡

There’s just something about the vapid self-endorsement and nonstop bragging that rubs Jason wrong when it comes to Gotham run charity galas. He never really liked _people_ to begin with, let alone rich socialites born with a silver spoon in their mouths and too much money to burn.

“Jay, you’re making a face, smile for the camera.” Dick murmurs from his right, a charming beam gracing his lips as he makes direct eye contact with one of the shotty Gotham Gazette paparazzo trying to get an unassuming money shot. “They hate it when you scowl, you’re trying to be charismatic, remember?”

“Belmont is making such an _ass_ out of himself though—it’s like a trainwreck, I can’t look away.”

“Well, look away, _anyway._ We’ve got people to impress, sharks to reel in…” 

“Oh my god, he’s talking about his politics.” 

Dick crinkles his nose up at Jason, face pressed firmly against his shoulder, their arms interlocked, “The first date you’ve taken me on in weeks and all you can focus on is some balding banker?”

The put out tone leaves Jason wincing, turning his full attention back to Dick, “Babe, you know I didn’t mean it like _that_. Besides, this isn’t a real date, not really, we’re cashing for donors tonight.”

That gets him a sigh, followed by the slightest tightening of arms around his bicep; Dick shifts his gaze elsewhere with a distant hum, “... You were more fun in the limo.”

Jason chokes on his wine. “ _Baby--_ ”

Dick’s lips quirk in sinful promise, Jason swallows, “We could still have fun you know, if you’re really good and you reel in at least several heavy hitters tonight, I mean.”

“I reeled in heavy-hitters just fine before I had arm candy to back me up,” Jason mutters as suggestive eyebrows raise themselves at him. 

“Yes, yes, I know, you’re a big, strong, alleged crime lord. Very intimidating. _Sooo_ scary.” And he’s so damn _cheeky,_ Jason can’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I might swoon into your arms, my goodness.”

“Fuck you.”

“Promise?” Thick raven eyelashes flutter at him, Dick makes a point to hunch his boa up just a little closer as he leans fully into Jason, “I’ve been working floors alone for weeks, I’m almost lonely.” 

—It’s stupid, how much Dick _gets_ to him sometimes. Granted, Ric could also get under his skin without even trying, knowing exactly where to poke and prod for a reaction, when to back off before gentle ribbing became genuine anger. But with Dick, it's like he just keeps digging down to the _marrow._ Unyielding. Persistent. Stubborn. Some days it feels as if the more Jason comes to know about one, the less he understands about the other. It’s like maintaining a fucked up balancing scale—and things aren’t leaning in Dick’s favor. Realistically, he should probably give into him less.

(However, Jason is also a weak, weak, man, especially when it comes to the things he dubs as ‘his’.)

“I’ll have to take you to more social functions, I wouldn’t want anyone stealing you away.” He swears he feels a shudder wrack Dick’s form when Jason rumbles the words against his ear, but that smile doesn’t falter, if anything he’s somehow even more receptive.

“—Well, how about putting those networking skills of yours to good use so I can put _you_ to good use later tonight, hmm?” Dick winks and Jason is filled with an overwhelming sense of warmth as he slips his arm out of Dick’s grasp to hook it around his waist instead. 

Jason’s eyes scan the room, taking in the sickeningly upper-class atmosphere that makes the former street kid in Jason recoil; it still blows his mind some days, knowing that just one person in this ballroom could probably pay for every last kid in Park Row’s entire education and not even break a sweat. Nonetheless, Jason rises to the challenge, “Faster we get this over with the longer I get to pamper you, pretty boy.”

♡

After Dick splits off from Jason, it’s business as usual; he’s tangled with Gotham’s upper crust more times than he could ever care to count, more times than Jason could ever know. Fishing for investors at its bare essentials was just intel-gathering at the end of the day—when you were handsome enough people tended to let their guards down. A pretty face always meant ‘vapid and foolish’ in a seedy place like Gotham, especially when someone dressed the way Dick did, talked the way he did, _walked_ the way he did. Galas were a performance, a show, and Dick has always thought of himself as a talented actor. Because Dick _knows_ how to shift the odds towards his favor, knows how to plant and knit suggestions so seamlessly into a conversation it could arguably be construed as deception at times. Some days it makes him unsettled, being picked apart bit by ever so gradual bit by judgemental eyes and strangers that only seem to want and not much else. There were times on the road, back when he and Ric would be on their way to their next destination where Dick couldn’t even find the will to get out of their ratty motel bed in the mornings. 

(On mornings like that Ric wouldn’t get out of bed either, he’d just settle next to him with a novel and play with Dick’s hair until the rain stopped and Dick could pretend he was okay again.)

But now there was Jason, and Jason made things _complicated_. 

_‘I want that one._ ’ 

At its bare bones, it had been a childish, if not damning phrase—in an abstract way, Dick had known he wanted the gorgeous man in the red suit and eyes like emerald fire. Maybe for a night, maybe till the day his heart stops beating; Dick’s never been one to look before he leaps, not when he had a partner that was always there to catch him, not when he grew up flying with his family as his safety net. 

(Perhaps it would’ve been easier if the only thing to Jason Peter Todd _had_ been his looks.) 

Dick watches from across the marble ballroom as Jason chatters in the circle of a collection of young to middle-aged business tycoons, he’s drawn in by that predatory smile as he haggles, the slight twist of his lips that’s just shy of a sneer as he keeps his composure in a den of pigs. Weirdly, Dick finds that sheer nerve and tenacity almost admirable. It’d taken Dick _years_ to stop scowling at Gotham’s pretentious upper crust as a kid and start playing nice, while Ric, on the other hand, had never stopped unwilling to unmake himself for people who’d sooner turn on him, fickle as the direction of a breeze. Dick swirls his wine glass as he sits at the open bar, the sight leaves an odd feeling settling in his gut watching Jay, it’s something caught part ways between fond and protective.

Their eyes meet from across the room, Jason’s entire face eases up and every last one of his muscles unwinds—Dick always forgets how tightly wound Jason holds himself until he sees the evidence shoved in front of his face. There’s always this dazed look on Jason’s face whenever he looks at one or both of them like he can’t believe that they _stayed_ , as though Dick wasn’t already becoming irreversibly wrapped around his fingers with every action he takes.

It’s laughable. Dick’s always fallen hard and fast—one of his ‘fatal flaws’ or so Rickie always called it—but even so, he can’t recall feeling something this intense since… _before_. His thoughts are suddenly cut off when Jason flashes a secret smile his way, meant just for him and Dick’s heart swells in his chest like it’s trying to physically claw its way out of his ribcage and into the warmth of those arms. 

He sees what Ric meant, back during his and Jason’s blowout argument a few months ago, curled up miserable and held tight in Dick’s arms, voice raw and broken as he murmured about how terrified he was. About how utterly ruined he felt for anyone else but this one scraggly lonely kid from Gotham’s streets, with his roguish smiles and confoundingly gentle touches. Dick sees it more and more, every single day.

They’d only meant to stay three months. Somehow it's nearly been _six_. 

Given the option, he’d kill for this boy, he thinks. There are lots of things he’d do for this fractured, lonely boy that had shakily begged them to ‘stay’ a meer ten days before Dick was considering wrapping things up in Gotham for good this time.

It wouldn’t be nearly this complicated if Jason weren’t so _loveable_ —with those hesitant, hopeful smiles he always seemed intent on hiding away, and that thoughtful nature when it came to those he considered ‘his people’. Growing fond of those smiles and the way Jay looked at Dick like he’d hung the moon with the stars in the sky every time he woke up to them in the mornings was an inevitability Dick had severely underestimated.

Dick feels a smile tug at his lips as Jason seamlessly inserts himself into yet another social circle. Jay’s charisma, no matter how rough and unrefined, infects even the most close-knit brackets of socialites like a hard to shake virus. Watching him work makes Dick’s insides purr with possessive pride. He’s just so capable—seeing him in action just leaves him wanting to throw Jason off-kilter all the more, leave him stumbling, flustered. Expose that side of Jason that only _Dick_ got to see. See, Dick, for all his posturing, was a romantic at his core, he believed in things like love, _soulmates_. And until recently, he’s always thought his soulmate was Ric. Ric was always there after all, through their fall, through Gotham, through thick and through thin, through happy days and hopeless nights— _everything_. 

He recalls reading about a legend once when he was young. One about twins being star crossed lovers from a previous life; it's the type of information that never quite left him, that he’d filed away upon hearing and never let go of. Lately, Dick can’t help thinking that if Ric and he were lovers in their previous lives, then maybe Jason could be their soulmate for this one.

_(They’ve always shared everything else, after all, why not their soulmate?)_

Abruptly, Dick is snapped out of his daydream—it’s a violent kind of wake up call, like being dunked in Gotham bay right in the middle of December. He spies a broad-shouldered frame transversing the floor, a slender blonde on an arm, it’s a familiar back, one Dick would know from several _city blocks away_ , never mind across a room. 

Dick’s hand tights on the wine glass, it’s so delicate the glass begins the fracture.   
  


_No.  
  
_

Why is _he_ here? He shouldn’t be. Dick had double-checked, he’d _triple checked_. He’d looked at the guestlist at least twenty times and _what the_ **fuck** _was he doing here?_

The glass shatters in Dick’s hands, the shards mixing in with his feather boa, he gnashes his teeth with a ferocity that leaves him with the taste of iron lingering on his tongue. The bartender flinches in alarm, they’d exchanged a few pleasant words, she’d complimented his earrings, him her gorgeous blue crystal necklace, but Dick pays the woman no further mind as he shakes out the glass and the white wine dripping down his forearm.

(Thank god Ric isn’t here. Ric would do something stupid. Ric would probably just stride over there, wind back his fist, and break that maddeningly straight nose.)

Dick shoots up from his chair and crosses the floor in quickening strides, there’s fury burning his gaze, making his blood tick up and start boiling (For once, Dick’s glad he’d opted for low heels tonight, at least he doesn’t need to worry about breaking one tonight. He liked his high heels.) Just as that lumbering figure reaches Jason, interrupting a conversation with another nameless businessman he feels his heart jump in his chest with the growing anxiety. It all serves to make Dick a special kind of nauseous. 

“ _Jay,_ ” he's sharper than he means to be when he finally reaches Jason’s side, pulling him back several paces—but Jason, bless his heart, allows it without missing a single beat, confusion clear on his features.

For the first time, in five years Dick’s gaze meets familiar oceans of undauntable pale blue, his eyes linger a familiar square jawline and the mask of a tipsy smile. The ever so brief assessing once over those eyes give his bold outfit leaves Dick feeling like a damn kid again. Angry heat burns his ears.

 _“_ Brucie! _”_ A shrill voice breaks the spell, Dick’s arms tighten around Jason’s arm as he startles, eyes darting away from a judgemental gaze, “Take me out to dinner, later, I have a taste for some _Romanée Conti_ , it’s bad enough that we had to stop by this stiff charity gala.” She stamps her foot, Dick sees Jason’s face sour a bit.

Dick’s nails bite into Jay’s dress shirt, forces his muscles to carefully unwind so as not to alarm Jason any further. Bruce still hasn’t broken eye contact, even as he responds to his date in that pleasant, placating tone of his. It’s just like his normal speaking voice but not quite, it’s too fake, too put on, too _kind_ . “I’ll buy you a bottle to make it up to you Abby, I _promise_ —just wanted to say hello to some _new faces_ on the scene, that’s all.”

“Mister Jason Peter Todd, right?” Jason looks to Dick, then back to Bruce, he arches up a careful eyebrow at the offered hand. Dick tries not to frown when Jason clasps it in greeting.

“And you’re the infamous, ever-elusive Bruce Wayne—what’s caught your attention in little old Gotham? Not off on a ski trip, or sightseeing in Italy this week?”

Bruce laughs and it’s too loud, a flawless mimic of a tipsy Gotham socialite, Dick shifts his gaze away as Jason moves to place a hand on the small of his back, wordlessly pulling him against his side. 

_Get a hold on yourself, Grayson, you’re not a kid anymore._

“Found myself getting a tad homesick you see. I just had to meet the new owner of the Iceberg Lounge, heard things have been booming there business-wise since Cobblepot’s... unfortunate passing.” Bruce’s eyes narrow briefly, Jason’s back tenses under Dick’s fingertips.

“Yeah.” Jason’s voice is flat and unimpressed, Dick realizes, oddly enough, that he and Bruce are built almost the exact same; Jay only needs to tilt his head up slightly to meet Bruce’s gaze. He makes a mental note _not_ to point the similarities out to Ric, it’d make Ric uncomfortable. “The old bird is still dearly missed at the lounge. We were close. I was an… ah,” he pauses, “secretary of sorts. We were closer than father and son, which is why he so graciously granted me his enterprise.” The lie is so blatant yet still oh, so, smooth as butter it almost makes Dick want to laugh.  
  
“Wayne Enterprises is always happy to kickstart new businesses and bolster Gotham’s local economy—” Bruce hands out a metallic business card, it glints and shimmers in the bright lights of the gala hall. Jason hardly blinks, taking the card, face carefully neutral, “—I hope we can be friends, Mister Todd, the city needs new-bloods like you.”

“Right… I hope the same, Mister Wayne.”

Dick steps in front of Jason, just enough that Jason looks down at him in confusion; he meets those piercing eyes head-on as he mentally counts down from twenty in his brain to ground himself. “Your offer is way too kind, Mister Wayne, but we really must be on our way now.” He keeps his voice remarkably even and controlled, trying not to think about how he’s going to explain this confrontation to Jay later.

Bruce simply tilts his head, face still slack and languid but his eyes are sharp and intense, _always searching._ “Well, that’s too bad... I would’ve loved to have a chat with Gotham’s newest most talked about power couple. I was shocked when I saw the article while visiting friends and Kansas earlier this year. I should drop by the Casino sometime soon, it’s not _really_ my scene but I heard the remodeling is something else.”

The subtle jab about Kansas isn’t something Dick’s expecting, it leaves him _reeling_ , like a hard blow to the solar plexus, unwittingly he takes a step backward, he hits Jason’s chest. Jason puts a calming hand on his shoulder and steadies him, it helps Dick focus long enough physically clench and relax his fists. He forces a pleasant smile that may well be more of a sneer. 

“We’ll keep it in mind.”

The woman on Bruce’s arm starts chittering and lamenting about her wine again, Dick takes that as their cue to exit stage left. His jaw is clenched and his face is ashen as he crosses the room in long strides, Jason close behind. He thinks Jay might be speaking, but Dick can’t be sure anymore, he’s too busy focusing on the blood rushing in his ears and the way it felt being picked apart by that cool, disappointed gaze. It makes him feel sick again, god he doesn’t even want to imagine what Ric would do if Bruce _did_ show up at the casino and—

Just then, he suddenly stopped short by an iron grip on his upper arm. _They’re outside now, how did they get outside_?

Jason’s face is set in a worried expression as he knits his eyebrows tightly, he grips Dick by both his shoulders and turns him round to face him. Dick can’t suppress his flinch when the other reaches out a careful hand to brush back a stray strand of hair. “You’re a mess. You’re _never_ a mess.” He says simply, then, dropping his voice an octave: “Does he need to die?”

And Dick lets out a harsh, startled laugh at that, because really, what other reaction could he have to such a blunt question? “ _No_ . No, Jay, you _can’t_ \--just…” he inhales, crinkles his nose, “... We have _history_ and I was caught off guard that’s all.”

All it gets him is a deeper frown, the slightest clenching of a chiseled jawline: “What kind of ‘history’?”

“We used to be... uh,” _Think, Grayson._ “We used to be an item. That’s all. I hustled Wayne once, years ago–we fell out in a bad way.” Dick lies through his teeth, despite the way something visceral and primal inside of him wants to climb walls at the very implication of the words. However, he finds he can’t take them back, not when he’s in _this_ deep, Dick meets Jason’s eyes squarely, but that frustrated frown only seems to deepen in response.

“... You’re doing it again.”

Dick stiffens, a smile frozen on his face, “Doing what again?”

Jason huffs out a harsh breath through his nose before ever so carefully, like he’s nervous Dick might turn tail and run if he’s not careful, he wraps his arms around Dick’s mid-back, solid and _safe_. And Dick greedily, hypocritically, breathes him in, Jay’s just so _close_ , his blood rushes in his ears as the other reverently presses his fingers up through his locks and just holds him in place, just like that.

“You’re lying, again, sugar.”

Dick falls icily silent, grip tightening on Jay's tie as he draws in several calming breaths, "I'm not." Jason presses a kiss to his temple then his eyelid, then back around to the corner of his lips.

"Yes you are, you can't even look me in the face right now." Dick's brows furrow in confusion, because he's looking at Jason right now, isn't he? 

Jason Todd was very much like a complicated crossword puzzle, simple and straightforward in concept, but complex in the most vividly specific of ways. Dick is good with people—‘excellent’ even, if he were allowed to preen—but despite being ‘straightforward’, he swears somedays it feels like Jason comes at issues _sideways_ , especially regarding him and Ric. It's hard getting into Jason’s head, into his _thoughts,_ then having to piece together out how he started from point A and jumped all the way to point E without Dick's permission. The silence that lingers between them as his mind races is and feels deafening; Dick stares down at his feet, abusing his bottom lip with vindictive teeth. "... I'm _not_ lying." His voice is quiet now, gritted through a set, aching, jaw. Jason takes one of his wrists and brings it up to his lips.

His voice is almost playful when he responds with a casual: "Yeah, you are."  
  


_Goddamn him.  
  
_

"Goddamn, you," Dick says out loud this time, taking a step forward, pressing his face into the crook of Jason's neck, "The least you could do is pretend, can't you just be polite about it and pretend?” He laughs, it might sound more petulant than he wants it to be, but he’s not sure, “For all you know I _have_ slept with Mister Wayne lots of times in my youth. With leather cuffs. He's into hardcore BDSM an CBT. He's very kinky."

Jason grips his chin and makes him look up, his face breaking in a bemused smile, "No… no, I _really_ don't think you have. Cause, see, I know how people look at you when they want you in that way, sugar. Believe me. I have to tolerate it every single damn night you walk my floor, and lemme tell you," Jason pauses, giving Dick an extended once over, "—Wayne ain't it."

Dick hates him. Dick hates that Jason can read him just as good as Ric can almost, he hates that he’s falling fast and hard for him without even a safety net, he hates that Jason doesn't think that he's worthy despite coming to understand Dick more in six months than most people bother in an entire lifetime. He's terribly fond of this man, self-destructively so. At least now Dick understands Ric's dilemma, _Ric_ wants to come clean, says it’ll be fine, that they can _trust_ Jason but Dick's been digging his heels in. And it’s worse because Jason just makes it so hard to stay firm. Lying to someone is one thing. Lying to someone when they know full well you're lying is a whole other layer that Dick's plain uncomfortable with—because he's been there, he understands the frustration, and he understands how much it _hurts_. 

The silence stretches on between them, Jason holding his waist tight with one arm, the other holding Dick's chin to keep their gazes locked. Dick swallows, he wishes those eyes weren't so imploring, so desperate, it makes a part of him ache in ways he didn't think possible anymore. 

"I want to go home," Dick soon quietly concedes, bitterly shaking his chin out of Jason's grip, hands braced against that broad chest. He doesn't want to see the way Jason's expression falls, so he doesn't look, slowly, but surely, Jason’s arm unwinds from around his waist. Dick looks down at his feet as Jason tugs him insistently along, all the way to the limo parked in the driveway of the event venue. 

Jason lets him in first, Dick's mind keeps clawing for the right words, anything to _explain,_ as he climbs into the limo and glances away from Jason’s furrowed brows with a frustrated sigh. Davey isn't back yet. It'd be a while until he _was_ , they'd told him several hours and they'd only been in there for ninety minutes. The silence between them is tense, so thick it could be sliced by a butter knife, Dick can't help thinking, he’s struck with the burning urge to run, maybe not bolt but so something _active_ , being up and active helped him think, helped him breathe. 

_Inhale._ Dick hugs his arms around his middle as he bounces his knee. _And exhale._ He tries to focus on anything but Jason, anything, but the thought makes him wince.

Jason's eyes snap back towards him.

"Hell—you cold? I was gonna call Davidson to let him know we're leaving early," he starts to shuck off his jacket, "Sorry, I'm used to the cold, see, so I forget sometimes that there’re people with shit circulation."

Dick blinks as the jacket is wrapped around his shoulders, blinks again as Jason tenderly presses his fingers up through his hair. He leans into the touch, drinks it in, it's almost funny—Jason's a crime lord, but he's the most earnest person Dick thinks he's ever been with. It makes him feel hopeless, observing the way Jason takes out a burner phone and studiously starts punching in Davidson's number.

Before he can press 'call', however, Dick gently puts a hand over his and snaps the phone shut, Jason looks at him, questioning. Dick wets his lips as he smoothly sweeps his leg over Jason's lap and straddles an appealing pair of thighs, his hands splay across a shapely chest. Those green eyes keep steady when they meet his, large hands moving to rest high on Dick's slender waist. 

"Is this what you need?" Is all he asks, the suit jacket slips from Dick's shoulders as he reels him in closer.

Dick's chest does a strange flip at that--something about those eyes makes him feel exposed--he presses up into Jason as much as the position allows, "Stop doing that,"

Those same traitorous hands caress along both his sides, this time Dick's exhale ends in a soft, mindless moan, Jason leans forward and presses a kiss to his collar sliding a hand along Dick's bare spine to slip down his collar, "Doing what?" He asks, distracted as he proceeds to move onto his shoulder. 

“You want me to ‘take the edge off’—right? I can do that.”

Dick hums as he tilts his head back the slightest bit, as Jason sucks another bright red bruise into his shoulder. Then slowly, surely, without his thinking brain’s express permission, Dick’s hips gyrate against Jason’s as he drapes his arms over broad shoulders. Jason breathes out against his lips, but his eyes are intense like they can see Dick in all the ways that matter, all the ways Dick doesn’t want _anyone_ to see.

“I _do,_ ” Dick gasps as Jay grips his ass to stall him before roughly rolling his hips _up_ , Dick’s knees give out in surprise at the friction, slipping into a near split as Jason pulls him flush. The rough treatment turns him on more than it probably should. _"Please."_

Jason replies by massaging his upper thighs, still holding Dick’s hips frustratingly in place with a grip like iron. It makes something inside Dick just _melt_. “ _I’m_ controlling the pace this time around since you’re gonna be using me for gratification an’ all.” A faint whine leaves his lips as Jason grinds a palm between his legs.

“ _Jason_...” Dick hides his face, chasing the friction with his hips, blood rushes in his ears in a different sort of way, as he squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip in Jay’s curls. Jason presses his lips to the side of his head, grinding his palm down tighter against Dick’s crotch, he’s tucked down there—Jason’s ruining all his hard work.

“You hidin’ from me, sweetheart?”

Dick chews his lips as his toes curl in his boots, Jason’s voice is a low rumble against his ear, hazy eyed when he takes Dick’s chin again and forces his face up. “You an’ Rickie both hide whenever you get the chance, you’re both just so damn guarded, worse than me, I swear.” He lets out a bitter sort of laugh, that might be genuine, but Dick’s not in the mindset to dwell on it too hard—because Jay’s palm is moving faster now, and there’s a roughness to the action that leaves the fabric of Dick’s outfit riding up and his thighs shuddering.

Jason smooths his free hand along Dick’s spine, his chest is warm and solid, Dick can’t help dizzily noting, needily rocking into that pleasurable friction, eyelids fluttering as he lays his forehead on Jay’s shoulder. He hisses out a soft curse when the friction abruptly ceases; a domineering hand tangles in his locks, yanking him back and away from the crook of his partner’s neck.

He can see his own chest heaving, blinking hard and fast to clear his own vision as Jason’s eyes drink him in with a wolf’s gaze. “... _Fuck, sweet,_ wish you’d hide less—love the way you look when you know ‘m ruinin’ you...” Jason lets go of his hair, smooths calloused hands along the inside of Dick’s thighs tight clad thighs.

Had Jason’s accent always been so thick? Dick’s ears pick up on the way he loses his o’s on certain words or, holds a syllable for a touch too long even as rough, heavy hands rub demandingly along Dick’s sides. He groans when Jason halts his hips from gyrating, leaving a plethora of marks along his exposed collar. “ _Christ,_ sweetheart, you are just _beauuutiful_ , pretty as a picture when you’re needin’ for my touch, aren’t cha?”

Something about that Bowery twang makes Dick’s face go red. 

At first, he doesn’t understand _why_ , he’s had filthier things said to him in bed, after all, and it doesn’t click, because Jason doesn’t so much as give him room to think. He's murmuring low, sweet things against Dick’s ear, like _how good he's being, how sweet_ , as his palm shifts from his waist to start grinding against his crotch again. “’m gonna bend you in half an’ fuck you hard and rough, just the way you like it, baby. ‘Cause that's what you asked for, yeah?” He presses a harried kiss against Dick’s temple, his hand is still moving. Dick lets out a wanton keen as he tries and fails to rut against the rising friction. 

“I can give ya’ everythin’ you need, you just gotta ask for it, princess. You just gotta tell me you want for it.”

Dick lets out a strangled sound then, as his sudden climax takes him by surprise, right there in Jay's lap, his tights suddenly feel wet. He goes rigid for a brief moment as he slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout, a series of fine tremors shooting up and down his spine. Jason freezes.

His voice is purposefully controlled and level, when he speaks after a lengthy silence, “... Did you just get off from that? _Just_ that?” Fingers dig into Dick’s sides, he can tell from the grip he’s going to have bruises on his skin later--somehow, that knowledge just makes something deep and primal within Dick begin to _thrill._ He looks up at Jay, meets those dark eyes and purposefully rolls his lip.

“Yeah, looks like I did, boss.”

Jason groans low before he presses forward, capturing Dick’s lips in a messy, devouring kiss that seems to go on forever until Jay breaks it, leaving both their lips raw and red. He inhales and exhales with blown wide pupils, Dick can’t even see a hint of that familiar sea foam. “You’re a damn menace,” is all Jason mutters before hiking him up by his thighs bodily flipping them so Dick’s is sprawled out under him across the rear seats. 

He sinks down in between Dick’s legs, pushing aside the fabric of his leotard, Dick draws in a deep, steadying breath as Jason runs his tongue over the damp fishnets. 

“I’m gonna tear these,” Jason says, “then I’m gonna fuck you in this outfit till you can’t even sit right without thinkin’ ‘bout me for a straight week, ya’ feel me, sugar?”

Holy shit.

Dick’s head falls back with a faint groan as he raises his hips—as much as he can with Jay straddling him. “Then show me,” he breathes, “fuck me up, then.” Jay drags the flat of his tongue over Dick’s fabric-covered hard-on, no doubt tasting his release as he goes about dutifully ‘cleaning’ Dick’s soiled tights. Every now and then he’ll just cover Dick’s entire bulge with his mouth, teasing the head though his fishnets until Dick’s toes are curling and he’s fingers are clenching in Jason’s hair.

He’s loose-limbed and hard again by the time Jay pulls back to admire his handiwork, “Just got your tights all cleaned up an’ you’re already making them dirty again, sweetheart? What a shame.” Jason clicks his tongue, eyes intense and burning, as though he’s trying to memorize Dick’s pliant expression down to the very last detail. 

Spreading his legs a little wider, Dick reaches his hands out towards Jay again, humming happily when he responds without hesitation, resting his cheek against one of Dick’s palms, he slips out of the facade briefly, confidence melting away into something more shy, uncertain—familiar. Dick sits up long enough to press his lips to Jason’s forehead. “You’re doing fine.”

Because Jay’s always searching, looking for reassurance, willing to do anything so long as it begins and ends with him and Ric ‘staying’. It’s a silly concept, Dick can’t help thinking, numbly as Jason takes his hand and kisses over the insides of his wrist again. Jason has two Graysons thoroughly trapped in his web and it still knocks Dick’s entire worldview totally off kilter knowing it _still_ hasn’t hit him yet—that it might _never_ hit him. The very thought that Jason thinks _they’d_ be the ones to leave at this point makes him want to laugh himself to tears. And Dick _does_ laugh, soft and ever so fond, all thoughts of Bruce Wayne suddenly a distant thing in the face of Jason’s earnest eyes.

(And that’s the problem isn’t it? Dick ought to leave—but all he wants to do is _stay._ )

“Thought you were gonna take the edge off, ‘Boss’? Show me a good time.”

Jason scoffs, “Shouldn't have called you ‘princess’, here ya go actin’ like one...” And Dick _shudders_. This time, Jason takes notice.

He pauses, puzzled for a moment, “... Wait, was that…?” Jason’s eyes burrow under his skin for a lengthy moment, then his fingers carefully return to massaging Dick’s thighs again, “... _Princess_.” Dick buries his face in an elbow as he keens, sharp and needy as hips canting in Jason’s grip again. He hears Jason let out a measured breath as his eyes take on an intense shade, seeming to glow in the dim backlight of the limo cabin. “Fuck, sweet, you’re just full of surprises, aren’ cha?” 

Dick bites back another needy sort of groan as Jason tears a hole open in his fishnets with his teeth, right where his crotch is, revealing more and more of his bare skin and ass the wider he makes the hole, he doesn’t make any move to undress him further. “Liked those tights,” Dick murmurs, heat pulsing in his chest and eardrums as Jay licks a long strip along his now exposed taint.

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

(He can’t find much reason to complain at that; his mind gets all scrambled every time Jay so much as touches his skin with that scorching touch.)

Dick’s erection is still partially trapped in his fishnets, when Jason pulls back again, reaching over into one of the limousine compartments and rummaging around for… Dick blinks the haze out of his eyes, “Y..You keep _lube packets_ in here?”

“‘Course princess,” Jason rips it open with his teeth, pouring a fair amount onto his fingers and Dick’s entrance, “you strays are _insatiable,_ how else could me an R survive those long, stressful, meetings with Gotham’s underground, hm?” And he presses his fingers into him, in one smooth motion, no preamble, his smile only sharpening when Dick’s spine arches.

“Startin’ to think I could bring you to climax twice more ‘fore Davidson comes back, yeah, princess?” He thrusts his fingers in and out hard and brutal as he bites his way along the insides of Dick’s thighs, ripping bigger holes in his fishnets all the way down, exposing more and more skin. It’s somehow more of a turn-on than just being bracketed under Jason nude. 

“You’ve got good stamina, bet you can manage just fine, honey—”

Jason wets his lips, eyes going a little hazy again as Dick lets out a warbling yell when he changes the angle of his fingers, “Wonder if I can make you cum on my fingers the way you did on my lap— an’ you’d like that wouldn’t you? Bet you _are_ a pillow princess deep down, bet that ‘giving sexual partner’ persona’s just a facade ain’ it? You just wanna be pampered ‘til you’re all soft, pliant, and _mine_. Spoiled rotten. Wanna be made _dirty_...” This time Dick’s whimper is a pitiful thing, as he tries to roll his hips with Jay’s intruding digits. 

A second calloused hand grips him through his fishnets and strokes him quick and merciless, aided by the lube and his own precum— _So wet for me, princess—_ until Dick’s back is so far off the limo seats only his shoulder blades are still touching. He sees stars behind his eyelids every time he blinks and white every time he forces them open, breath unsteady. His toes twist and squirm against the leather seats as tears spring to his eyes and Jason switches gears to teasing and rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him. There’s something so utterly filthy, about the thought of coming all over himself, fully clothed like this. That something which leaves Dick’s face filling with an ashamed heat and leaves his heart battering at his ribcage. 

The second orgasm takes him by surprise, he comes inside his tights again, sticky and wet as Jason’s hand keeps moving inside him, not even stopping his pace. But their eyes meet, and Dick’s brain is full of _mush_ he’s so useless then, as he hiccups and weakly curls his toes.

“Gimme a color, princess,” Jason’s voice is cool and soothing, while Dick’s head is somewhere floaty, vaguely pleasant as he languidly gyrates his hips up into the merciless fingers. 

“Bu... _Blue_ , Boss…” He says and meets Jason’s eyes squarely; he knows his limits, see, he’s spent decades learning them, stumbling into them, so, Dick likes to believe he has a pretty firm grasp on what he can and can’t handle. And right now? Every last fiber of Dick’s being is screaming _more_ , with an intensity he’s seldom felt with anyone, let alone a man he’s known for little under half a year.

Jason pulls his fingers out of him, wiping the excess lube on holey tights. He braces his grip on Dick’s thighs and presses them back into the seats. Reverently, Jay pushes the fabric of his leotard even further to the side with his thumb, spreading his hole. 

“You can gimme another, right, princess?” Dick, again, shudders at the name, it’s pressing all _kinds_ of buttons he hadn’t even known were there. 

Slowly, unyieldingly, Jason sinks into him inch by gradual inch, the stretch leaves Dick’s toes twitching, he’s not sure where his flats went in this mess, he doesn’t care enough to search. His head lolls to a side as Jason’s firm grip tightens on his thighs again, Dick lets his head fall back with a desperate whimper he hardly recognizes. Through the haze, he can’t help noticing how Jay’s slicked hair is thoroughly disheveled, bangs sticking to his forehead with the thin glean of sweat on his skin. 

(With another shudder, Dick realizes Jay is still fully dressed. The only thing out of place on his person being his loosened tie and undone fly. And hell if the image isn’t one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.)

When he bottoms out, Jason’s expression is the stuff of daydreams, his eyelids flutter and he lets out a quaking exhale, rubbing the flat palms of his hands over Dick’s chest and thighs over and over, tells him— _how good you are, princess, so good for me so damned tight._ And it’s been _ages_ since Dick’s felt this turned on, even trying to think back before Jason draws him up at a blank.

“ _Boss_ ,” he wraps his trembling legs around Jay’s waist, head falling back against the seat cushions, hips twitching as Jason presses his lips against his collarbone, then his neck, then the corner of his mouth, “ _Boss, Boss, Boss…_ ” He always loves taking Jason’s dick; the way those powerful thighs never fail to leave him a pliant mess, how it fits him just right, stretches Dick in ways that leave him drooling. 

He wants something hard and fast, something mind-numbing so he can forget about his slip up tonight and how seeing Bruce for the first time in years, even after all the running, all the distance, had still shaken him to his _core_. He wants to rip out the festering weakness, _drift_ for a while—but, to reiterate, Jason approaches his problems every way _but_ forwards. So, when he runs his fingers along Dick’s sides, reverently the way he always does and kisses him soft and easy until Dick’s struggling for breath again, he finds himself at a loss. He lets out a low groan as Jason works him slow and precise, worlds different from the feverous frottage session; his eyes are so focused, looking straight into his soul. Dick grunts and tosses both his arms over his face as he rocks with the slow, maddening pace Jason’s set, it doesn’t last long at all, Jason grips his wrists and breaks the barrier, pressing their foreheads together.  
  
“None of that.” He says, with a firmness that leaves more shudders racing down Dick’s spine, then Jason re-angles his hips and Dick feels his own buck so violently in response all it does is drive Jason even further inside of him. Dick bites his lip hard enough that he tastes copper, as Jay slides down to his nipples, sucking them between his teeth and _fuck_ Dick can’t even help the shout that leaves him at that.

He waits for Jason to speed up, but… he just doesn’t. Intense pools of emerald simply continue bearing down on him as those lips thoroughly mark up Dick’s chest in red bite marks and possessive hickeys. His grip tightens on Dick’s hips, he settles into a deeper, more rhythmic pace; Dick mewls as the hot member brushes against that sweet spot again, body softening even further under the reassuring weight of Jay’s form. His touch is tender, as though apologetic for handling Dick so roughly earlier.

It makes something anxious go a flutter in his chest, when Jay leans in close, breath ghosting over his lips before kissing him like he _means it._ Leisurely, deep, and passionate as his fingers card themselves through all of Dick’s locks over and over, seemingly obsessed with the feel of it all.

“Faster… Jay please, I _need_ fast, right now...pleaseplease…” Dick clenches his fingers in Jay’s vest, that unchanging rhythm driving him _nuts_. But, when Jason’s eyes meet his then they’re somewhat hazy Dick notices, yet still alarmingly fixated.  
  
“Naw, I don’t think that’s what you need, princess,” The words would cause Dick to stiffen if he wasn’t so thoroughly fucked out. 

“—It took me a bit, but I think I get it now,” Jason continues with a grunt, sweat on his brow as he cups the back of Dick’s head, “See? You don’t _want_ the type of guy, who just fucks you stupid when you ask an never gives _you_ a second thought. It jus’ hit me…” Jason trails his lips over Dick’s nipples, exhaling against the heated skin as Dick sucks in a harsh gasp and jerks. 

“You don’t need hard and fast right now, you need, slow an’ _deep_. You want to feel smothered, protected and secure. You just want the contact, don’t you…?” Jason’s breath is shallow as his hands transverse Dick’s open back, “An’ that’s a different kinda mess you wanna be made into, baby. Sorry, I misunderstood so bad.”

Dick cries out when Jason sinks into these careful, rolling thrusts, thighs quivering wrapped around the younger man’s lower back, “So I’m gonna make you cum just like this, on my cock, in this limo,” he rumbles against his skin, “You were _shaken_ tonight,” This time, Dick _does_ tense, but finds himself immediately melting again when Jason sinuously grinds against that spot inside of him. 

“Can’t fix that, but I can make you feel good. Wanna make you feel safe with me, you deserve it… you deserve _so much_ , princess. All the praises in the world _—hell._ ”

A mewl leaves his lips then, as Jason fucks him at an almost leisurely pace; tender fingers transverse his form, the rough calluses on Jay’s fingers leaving Dick’s still-sensitive skin flinching in response. The foreign sounds leaving his lips only hitch up an octave as Jason gently rolls his nipples under his thumbs.

“Fuck, you’re somethin’ else, could eat you out for hours sugar, you know that? You just make the prettiest sounds, it drives me nuts sometimes knowing there’ve been people that ’ve treated you so bad, ‘d worship you if you were mine, _really_ mine, if you just stayed,” Jason babbles off a bunch of word vomit of the like, the praises and groans running together as he blankets Dick in his form, blocking out the dim lighting of the limousine cabin—Dick takes to the gesture, shamefully eager, burying his face in Jay’s shoulder, inhaling the scent and the spice of his cologne.

Dick thinks he’s sobbing but he can’t focus on anything else aside from Jason’s relentlessly tender pace and touch long enough to be sure.  
  
It’s strange, there are only several people in the entire world who've ever made Dick feel unconditionally _safe_ —Ric is one of them, and now, Jay. 

He climaxes again, with a mangled cry of _‘Boss’_ into Jason’s shoulder, on his cock, pressed into the seats of the limo just like Jay said he would. Jason keeps moving his hips inside him as he comes down, pressing his lips against Dick’s damp, flustered cheeks ( _So good for me princess, you did amazing.)_ Dick goes limp and pliant as a ragdoll, as Jason pulls out, he struggles to sit up when he sees he’s still hard, but all he gets is a hand on his shoulder pressing him back into the seats.

Jay’s eyes are unblinking, razor-focused in their renewed intensity as he pumps his erection, eyes trailing over Dick’s wanton form. “Just… Jus’ stay like that princess, just the.. Jus’ the way you are a li’le longer…” His fist speeds up a little, drinking in Dick’s appearance—he doesn’t last long at all. With a sharp grunt, he tips over the edge, coming all over Dick’s heaving chest.

He shudders for a moment, eyes never leaving Dick’s, “Beautiful.” He mumbles under his breath, clean hand cupping Dick’s check, thumb tracing over his thoroughly reddened bottom lip. 

“Best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

With that he hooks his arms under Dick’s lower back, shushing him even when Dick lets out a dazed protesting whine at being moved so soon. He presses a reassuring kiss to his forehead before flipping their positions so Dick’s resting propped up against his chest, fave against an exposed collar with Jason’s back to the doors.

“Just relax. I’ll get you home safe an’ sound, ya’hear?” 

“.... Promise?”

“Scouts honor, sweet.”

And despite all his misgivings, his caution, his concerns—Dick lets himself drift, listening to the comforting rumble of Jay’s chest and heartbeat as he murmurs sweet praises into his hair. _He’s safe. He’s protected. He’s_ **home**.

There’re a few times throughout the ordeal where he’ll check back in, once to Jason talking on the phone, then to the moving lights of a city and the telltale honk of a late-night traffic dispute. Darkness. Being lifted, being carried. 

(Jay’s chest is just so warm and safe, there’s nowhere else Dick would rather be.)

Coming back to himself fully takes a while, it isn’t until he feels water and warmth encompassing him that Dick he tightens his grip on familiar forearms. Forcing himself back to awareness is a lot like swimming through molasses, there’s no panic, because, to his absolute horror, his body _knows_ Jason. He trusts Jason.

“...Jay?”

“Right here,” Jason’s voice sounds almost relieved, “Just… I did a number on you earlier, and I thought a bath might help bring you back down to earth, you checked out pretty hard... Ric suggested this.” Dick admires the way Jay’s face goes a blotchy red, “Uh, yeah. Anyways, I figured we could have dinner in bed, watch a movie or something. I. Can make roast.” Dick feels himself blink slowly, the demeanor is galaxies away from the dominant man in the limo early, it throws him through a loop sometimes, whenever it hits him just how _young_ Jay actually is. He probably wouldn’t look out of place on a Gotham U campus. 

A more somber part of Dick’s brain wonders all the ways this city must have failed him to get him to this point; thinking about Jay’s numerous scars makes something ugly and possessive twist in his gut. 

Jason’s words fade off, he looks upset with himself now, Dick reaches up a hand to smooth out the growing crease in his eyebrows, “... How about you set me down and get me some lemon ice water, my throat’s still kind of sore, yeah?” Dick clears said throat pointedly, hiding a smile when Jason hops to his feet immediately, looking troubled again.

“Right! Water, shit, how could I forget water…?” Jason clicks his tongue, standing up too quickly for Dick’s sluggish brain to register.  
  
“No rush, Jay.” But he’s already out the door before the words are even finished, Dick sinks further into the bathtub with a frown, until he’s well below the surface. He feels strangely empty with Jay out of sight, uncomfortable. 

_Pull it together, Grayson._

He exhales heavily as he resurfaces, scooping the well-salted bath water with both his palms to press his soaked bangs back and away from his eyes. The motion is mundane, almost grounding in a way, so much so Dick keeps repeating the process until he hears footfalls in the hall. Dick takes another moment to compose himself prepping to offer up a reassuring smile when— “... _Ric?_ I thought you were out tonight?” 

Ric pays the question no mind, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Jase is in the kitchen freaking out right now.”

Dick’s lips twist to the side, just shy of a scowl, “... I asked him to take my mind off things, ‘take the edge off’. He agreed, you do it all the time..”

That gets him a nasty scoff, Ric struts closer to the edge of the bath, Dick sinks further into the water again, eying his brother warily, “ _Bullshit_. You used him because you saw Bruce, and the sight of good ol’ Papa Wayne reawakened your rebellious streak.” Dick’s face flushes with the bolt of outrage that runs through him, sudden, white-hot and painful. The words are no better than a sharp slap to the face. But then, Ric’s always had a nasty way with words. 

“Go to hell.” 

“We’ve been waist-deep in it for five years, and I don’t fancy going back just because Bruce made you cut and run like a coward with a damn look.”  
  
Dick bows his head, gritting and grinding his teeth, his tongue pays with one of his falsies, a molar, eyes glazing over at the painful memory the action dredges up to the surface. _He remembers losing it, remembers it getting knocked right out of his—_

 _“Dick._ ” He snaps back, it’s suddenly hard to focus on his anger now, with the troubled look in Ric’s fierce gaze, firm fingers grip his chin, forcing his head back up so their eyes are locked. “ _Focus_. I need you back with me, Jason does too.”

He swallows, “... You… really, _really_ like him, don’t you?”

Ric pauses, voice dropping several notches, “I do.” —Sometimes Dick envies how honest Ric is, he wishes he could be honest, would give anything to be able to give that much of himself away with absolute surety like he used to be able to. But these days he’s scared he’s beginning to forget how to even do _that_ anymore. 

“And so do you.” The words surprise Dick enough to yank him out of his own thoughts fully this time around. Ric grips the sides of his head forcibly, pulls him closer until their foreheads are touching, “You just need to let go, Jason’s safe, _I’m_ safe. It’s _okay._ ”   
  
(But how can he trust that it’s _safe_ , how can he trust a force that notoriously throws his emotions into turmoil with a single sultry look, just as well as a tender boyish smile? How can he embrace a weakness that’s only served to leave him in ruins?)

♡  
  
♡  
  
♡

“... Ric cares about you a lot.” Dick says that same night completely out of the blue, the words are unexpected. Dick’s been unduly quiet after his bath, enough so that Jason’s steadily felt his anxiety building. 

“What?” 

He’s paid no mind, Dick keeps speaking, “Ric doesn’t let people in--not often. He trusts you.” he caresses Ric’s face, a faint sigh leaving his lips “It’s been a while since someone’s wanted Ric, _really_ wanted him, you know? He’s invested-- _we’re_ _invested._ Jason, you need to tell me right now if you’re not sure about this or I…” Dick wavers, expression looking lost.

(And Jason hates that expression on him, Dick’s been wearing it on and off all evening, all it makes him want to do is draw him up close and refuse to let go until he stops looking at him like he’s going to fade off somewhere.)

“—It’s just, I’m not sure how Ric will react.” 

“... Just Ric?” Dick’s face wavers ever so slightly, staring hard at his brother’s face, the lack of answer makes the silence feel worse.

So, Jason takes his hand, brings the knuckles up to his lips, despite something that reads like foreboding pooling in his gut, “I want _both of you_ ,” he prods, gently against that lost expression with his words, bothering his cheek when it only seems to make Dick withdraw further into himself. “I’ve never been sure of anything more in my damn entire life, Dickie.” _And hell if that didn’t absolutely terrify Jason to his deepest core._

“I trust him, he trusts me. We couldn’t work together if we didn’t.”

“Trusting someone and betraying them for it are two very different things, Jase.” The nickname paired with Dick’s hollow tone gives him pause, suddenly, Jason feels uneasy.

“I’d argue they’re one and the same, right?” Dick shoots him an odd look then, it momentarily reminds Jason of a stalled truck at a four-way stop, before—just like flipping a switch, Jason blinks and Dick’s already smoothed all the confusion in his face away with a disturbingly accurate brush, leaving nothing but cast iron bliss in its wake. 

Jason hates how he does _that_ , too. 

“... If you ever use that trust against him, I’ll leave and take us both so deep underground you’ll never find us again.” Dick lifts his chin, almost in defiance, but his hands are shaking, and Jason has a feeling then that Dick’s mind is elsewhere—another time, another place, maybe. And when faced with Dick’s desperately protective expression as he reaches out to grip Ric’s hand, like he’s nervous someone might come and tear him away? Jason finds he doesn't know what he can say to comfort him.

(It’s beyond distressing because Dick deserves better than an ‘I don’t know’, he deserves better than _Jason_.)

“--Ric comes first for me.” Dick continues, gaze burning in ways that raise the hairs on Jason’s nape, “He _always_ comes first. I owe him that much.” 

Jason believes him.

It never stops being jarring, the way Dick’s moods can flip from zero to a hundred on a dime. _Every_ new side he manages to uncover when it comes to Dick Grayson never fails to yank the rug right out from under Jason’s expectations, and by all rights, he should be tired of it by now. But Dick just keeps reeling him back again and again like a baited fish in a pond, while just the same, Jason keeps throwing himself right back into the fray. 

And, because he’s genuinely curious, and feeling slightly more grounded sandwiched between two equally important pieces of his world, Jason finds himself asking something damning again: 

“What about you?”

Dick goes still as a statue, then curious as a bird before, tentatively, he inclines his head. “What _about_ me?”

Jason studies Dick’s body language for a moment, the way his expression shutters warily before leveling out into something softer and more neutral, how he _intentionally_ opens up his body language in a calculating sort of way that leaves Jason feeling enamored. Or impressed. Or terrified. Or turned on--or really, it could be _any_ of those things. “Just somethin’ I’ve noticed, s’all. You talk about Ric’s feelings more than you do yours. It’s always ‘we’, with you, never ‘me’.”

Dick hums in faux ignorance, making a show of shooting Jason a bemused look, “...This isn’t like you, Jase? What’s bothering you?”

Jason snorts, a part of him hates how good he’s gotten at reading them both, if he could just take all of Dick’s words at face value, honestly, things probably would be less of a headache. Nonetheless, he fondly runs his fingers through dark locks, Jason’s so damn gone he doesn’t even care anymore. He wouldn’t trade Dick’s faux expressions for anything, they were still a part of him after all, his persona, his love language, his _everything,_ even if sometimes they _were_ an act.

He can’t help it, it’s so absurd he laughs, it must startle Dick because he feels the way that body subtly flinches against him. “You know something, Dickie? I’m not too good at this—any of this. These past few months have been a damn whirlwind, and I’ve just been following yours and Ric’s pace, falling deeper and deeper, it’s like I’m falling down an ocean trench with cement strapped to my feet…” Jason trails, watching the way Dick stiffens. 

“You wanna know what _I_ think? _I_ think you’re in just about as deep as _I am._ As _Ric_ is. And you don’t know shit about what to do about it, so you’re trying to pull away. I get it. —God knows I’m no expert on _relationships_ or whatever the hell I'm doin’ in one.”

That pseudo smile thins, “How do you figure I'm in as ‘deep’ as you two are?”

“You’ve been overcompensating, sunshine. Dare I say _aggressively_.”

Dick is full-on frowning now, eyes flickering down to Ric and back again, something in his face shifts, it drives Jason nuts, not being able to pick out which element it is that suddenly makes Dick’s entire expression feel _off_. “Invested.” He reiterates, shrugging loosely. “You’ve got potential, like… like,” his brow furrows, as he searches for the right words.

When he finds them, though, Dick snaps his fingers soundlessly with a slight smile, “Like an egg!”

“... An egg.” Jason says, flatly. (Suddenly, he’s reminded of a now distant memory, of that second night dancing with Ric at the gala: ‘ _He’s drawn to people with potential.’)_

Dick nods with alight eyes, “That’s right. You’re going to hatch into something absolutely _amazing_ one day and I can’t wait to be there to see it.”

“What does the egg metaphor have to do with any of this?”

“It’s the first thing that came to mind,” Dick says, brightly, “And as a bonus, it’s why ‘pup’ suits you so perfectly, you’re still learning, you’re still growing.”  
  
Jason runs a decidedly exasperated hand over his face. _This really is just his life now, isn’t it?_ “I’ve literally _killed_ people, sugar. _Kill_ people, present tense. On a regular basis--I’m a crime lord. You squirrel away my finances. You _cook the damn books_.”

Dick shrugs, unbothered, Jason can’t help getting distracted again by the way his eyes crinkle at their edges when he smiles, “My point still stands. I’ve been with worse.” The last line is a red herring, everything about this tangent is a red herring. Something to rile Jason, catch him off guard--but Dick’s always good at that, isn’t he? Jason’s seen him wind Ric up tighter than a bowstring, he knows the signs, spies the slight tightening of those full lips. It makes him want to laugh again. So, that’s exactly what he does, it’s worth it for the brief confusion that flashes in Dick’s eyes.

“You’re deflecting.” And as Dick looks at him, serene and innocent as can be, Jason starts to wonder how he didn’t realize earlier, just _how many_ of Dick’s mannerisms were disingenuous. It unsettles him—in a self-deprecating kind of way. 

“Really, now? What could’ve ever given you that idea, Jase?”

Abruptly, Jason lifts a single finger, even as Dick arches up a bemused eyebrow, “ _One:_ you keep on saying you’re invested, but in a roundabout kind of way so it still comes off like you’re an observer instead of a participant.”

Dick’s smile drops in momentary surprise, before gradually quirking into something a little more sardonic, “Well, _I_ think you’re _over_ thinking things, Jase. It’s late, maybe you’ll feel better if we sleep in. Have breakfast in bed in the morning?” Jason, not for the first time, wonders if that tactic works on Ric.

But he ignores the comment, keeps pushing as he holds up a second finger, “ _Two:_ Lately, you keep on referring strictly to Ric when you’re addressing things that ought to affect all of us.” _Jason would know, Jason uses the same tricks, after all._ Dick’s eyes narrow briefly, he breaks eye contact. His laugh still sounds like chimes, but there’s a sarcastic undertone to it now, something bitter and _annoyed._ “And three,” Jason pauses, crinkling his nose, “You don’t call me ‘Jase’, Ric does.” 

There’s a long stretch of silence, Dick is abusing his bottom lip, if Jason didn’t have him in his arms, he’d be nervous about him bolting. 

“...All of this over a few noun choices?”

“When they imply things about where you stand regarding me and Ric--yeah, all of this over ‘a few noun choices’, _Dick_.” Blunt, brutal, to the point--it’s where Jason shines his best. All Dick does is huff out a sharp laugh, reaching out to smooth down Jason’s birdnest of a bedhead. 

“Oh, yeah? Aren’t you the intuitive type?”

Jason’s brows knit in confusion. “Well… I’ve been spending day in and day out with at least one of you for months now. It’d be _weird_ if I didn’t pick up on any of your tells.”

Dick buries his face into his pillow, for a brief moment, watching those shoulders shaking, for one, heart-stopping moment Jason fears he’s pushed him too far--but, before the panic can set in, Dick turns his head with an amused, _fond,_ smile on his face. It takes his breath away. He doesn’t answer further.

Something hot and frustrated twists Jason’s gut. _“Dick,_ I’m serious.”

Dick draws in a deep breath, he shakes his head, “It’s not important. Drop it, Jase— _Jay_ , I can handle myself just fine.”

“It seems pretty damn important from where I’m sitting.”  
  
“Well, you’re pretty damn _wrong_ ,” Dick says, more firmly.

Jason inhales to argue, unintentionally jostling Ric as he tenses. They both freeze for a moment as the other let out a faint mumble into Jason’s chest, before resettling again. The palpable relief in the air leaves them both sighing, something about the interruption just blows the wind right out of his sails in a way. Now Jason’s just… tired, and he has the sneaking suspicion that Dick was too. 

“I just… want you to share your worries with me. That’s all.” The admission feels weak, even to his own ears. But that’s the only way that describes the sick feeling he gets whenever he sees either of them troubled or upset. “I’m here, I’ll listen. If it’s about Wayne or if it’s something as trivial as how damn bored you are doing my finances seven days out of the week—I’ll be right here.”

(Because above else he wants to _know them_ , the better he knows them the better he can protect them, after all.)

Dick leans over Ric, laughing that melodious laugh of his, pressing an affectionate kiss to the corner of Jason’s lips, “Oh, _baby,_ you’re too sweet for the likes of us.”

Jason feels his face burn as he pointedly looks away, he’s not prepared to hear this, not like this, not with Dick in such a strange, unsettling mood, the type of mood where he can’t tell if the other’s _lying_ or not.“... I keep sayin’—”

Dick purses his lips in weary humor, as he drops his voice an octave in a crude imitation of Jason’s deeper bass, “ _There’s bigger, better fish in the sea, Dick. There are better men out there, Ric. You two can leave anytime._ ” For a moment Jason can’t even get a word in, righteously offended by the cheap impression as he scrambles for a comeback, but before he knows it, Dick’s steamrolling right over him, the subject flipping like a fickle coin. Jason feels powerless when he takes the offer of an out with minimal hesitation.

“We’ve been having this argument for _months_ Jay, and I still aggressively disagree--I, for one, think you’re a pretty fish.” A lithe finger traces his bare chest, Jason sighs. “A _very_ pretty fish.”

“But I’m right, you _can_ do better; both of you can.”

That same feeling of foreboding coils in Jason’s stomach, watching Dick’s eyes, there’s no telltale sparkle of amusement in them, like there normally would be when he’s teasing. This expression is outright calculating, even if Dick is still smiling. “There’s some nuance to be had there,” Dick clicks his tongue, “You’re callous and prickly towards everyone like you always have every last one of your guards up… except towards us, that is.” Dick shoots him another knowing smile, that turns Jason’s insides into knots, “You don’t even flinch when I sneak up on you anymore.”

Somehow, absurdly, Dick referring to himself for the first time fills Jason with an almost feverish relief, he clears his throat, “... I got used to your touch. Your perfume is way too strong.” 

All Dick does is roll his eyes, carding through Jason’s curls—it makes him want to melt into the bedsheets, fall asleep, forget every last bit of this frustrating conversation, “—So dishonest,” he chides, “you and Ric are such similar animals, sometimes, I’m amazed by how well you get along.”

And it’s ridiculous because just weeks ago Jason’s sure him and Ric screamed their lungs out at each other over nothing until they were both blue in the face, when Ric was so angry at him he’d packed a duffle bag and just _left_ when they hadn’t even been on _speaking terms_. The observation is so bizarre after that fiasco it leaves him snorting in disbelief. Really, it just serves to remind Jason as to _why_ he needs to firm up—Dick’s been getting increasingly distant lately in general, the closer he and Ric have gotten since reconciling. 

Jason’s nervous that if he blinks for too long, he’ll up and vanish one day. 

“I dunno about that one, D.” He says, like a coward. “And how did we get to talking about Ric again? We were talking about _you._ ”  
  
Dick hums, thoughtfully, “Sweetheart, no one wants to know me, not really.” 

The words take him back to that night on the dancefloor with Ric, the depreciation in Dick’s tone strikes a protective cord in him, one that leaves Jason clenching his jaw. “ _Bullshit._ Who told you that? I’ll kill ‘em dead,” he breathes, nostrils flaring. He takes a hold of Dick’s hand, brings the knuckles to his lips again. Dick’s expression drops into one of genuine surprise at the words, it’s the most sincere Jason thinks he’s seen him since the conversation started. “I don’t believe you.” 

Because it boggles his mind. Ric’s a hidden gemstone, an obsidian diamond risen from the depths of an active volcano, rough, natural, beautiful--but ‘hidden’ is worlds different than what Dick Grayson is. Dick Grayson is another beast entirely. See, Jason can buttheads with Ric all day every day, but with Dick, it feels like he’d lose before even getting started--there’s this aura about him, like a shining star that pulls and pulls until it’s all you can do to avoid falling into his orbit. Instinctively, guiltily, even, Jason knows him and Ric alone would’ve parted ways after a single passion-filled night--regrets on both their tongues, longing under their restless skins.

With Dick, that kind of parting straight up wasn’t even on the betting table. He’s a bit of a bully that way, Jason’s starting to suspect. But he’s still _his_ , and _dazzling_ and _who in the holy hell thought it was okay to make him ever think he was anything less—_

“I _don’t_ believe you,” Jason repeats evenly this time, Dick shoots him a bemused smile, bright eyes crinkling at their edges.

“See? That’s what I like about you, Jase.”

Jason’s stomach does something between a drop and a flip when Dick calls him that again, he feels the chasm between them growing ever wider. “Dick—”

 _“Shuddup,_ Both of you, _God Almighty….”_ They both flinch, eyes shooting down to a very grumpy Ric Grayson, his electric eyes are sharp and cutting past the mop of fluffy bed hair. “This is my first sleep cycle in forty-eight hours, no couple arguments past three am.”

Jason dips over quickly pressing a kiss to Ric’s temple with a murmured apology as the man snarls at him, pillowing against his chest. Dick looks almost relieved at the distraction, reaching over to card his fingers over Ric’s sleep mushed locks, “Sorry, little brother, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“We’re the same age, Dickcheese, don’t start with me. Not right now.”

Dick’s lips noticeably twist to a side, smile more of a grimace now. “Yeesh _._ Haven’t heard that one since we were eleven. You sure you aren’t on hour _ninety-six_?”

Jason exhales, “Dick and I were just talking about.—”

“Nothing.” Jason stops, frowning, “I’m pretty tired myself anyways.” Dick says abruptly with a finality to his tone, nosing his way further into Jason’s collarbone.

He works his jaw for a moment as clever fingers trail soothing shapes into his chest, “... We’re coming back to this.”

Ric jabs him in the side then, already half asleep, _“Fight in the ‘mornin…”_

“There you have it,” Dick’s smile is too thin to be genuine as he pats Jason’s cheek affectionately, “it’s been a long day. Let’s get some shut-eye, Jase.”

It’s the most brutal dismissal Jason recalls experiencing in a while, cool and detached enough to leave his jaw snapping shut as Dick settles in. Jason spends a very long time glowering up at the ceiling, long after Dick’s breathing’s evened out to match Ric’s pressed against his other side.

(The very distinct feeling that usually comes with losing at a game of chess follows him well into a fitful sleep.)

  
♡♡♡

“I thought you were going to pull yourself together.”  
  
Dick is peering into the bathroom mirror, doing his liner for tonight's social event with a steady hand, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—I am perfectly in control. Wholly together.”

Ric scoffs from where he’s got his arms crossed, leaning against the frame of the doorway, eyes meeting Dick’s in the mirror, “Oh please you’re put about as good together as a cracked ceramic vase pug back with Elmer’s Glue.” He pays no mind to Dick’s dangerously narrowing eyes, or the brief moment when he grits his teeth.

“I don’t think I _asked_ for your opinion.”

“And yet here it is,” Ric barks out a mean laugh, tossing his hands in the air, “ _out there_ , for the whole of the universe to hear.” Dick slams his liner on the counter and looks over his shoulder with a scowl. 

“And _you_ don’t have anything, I dunno... _worthwhile_ to do? Keeping Jason’s muscle heads in line, maybe?” He bounces his heel against the bathroom tile hard and fast, an irritated heat rolling in his gut, Ric’s smile looks smug enough to punch off. Dick mentally reminds himself of Jason waiting in the living room and counts backward from ten in his head. Ric only rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re still doing this, I thought you’d cave after that night in the shower but,” Ric trails off, and stares at Dick more intensely for a moment, Dick feels stripped bare under that gaze. It’s worse than Jason’s in a way because Jason’s just taking a shot in the dark, Ric on the other hand, _knows_.

“ _Oh_. You did cave after the shower, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so wound up, _I_ was your safety net.”

“...I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I think this conversation is over.” Dick feels nauseous, eyes darting away from Ric’s, who’s still staring at him in the mirror, but it doesn’t earn him a lick of mercy.

“You’ve got it just as bad as me, you’re just scared to admit it because I have less to hide than you do—”

“I said... _shut up, Ric!”_

Dick slams both his hands on the counter, bottles of makeup and moisturizer clattering into the sink in his wake, his voice rings and echoes off of the walls of the bathroom. Ric’s face remains impassive even as Dick leans heavily against the marble counter, panting as he presses both sets of hands and fingers up through his hair. There’s a long stretch of silence, before Dick hears a rustle in the next room over, followed by heady, swiftly approaching footsteps, his knees feel weak.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice dropping several octaves, (he needs to remind himself not to touch his face, the liner is still wet), Dick lets his head hang with a shaky breath, “ _really._ ” Ric walks up behind him and places a placating hand on his shoulder, just as Jason reaches the doorway, noticeably out of sorts with a concerned furrow in his brow. 

“I’m sure you think are, Robbie. Don’t worry, I believe you.” 

The nickname rips a raw, distressed sound from Dick’s throat, the reminder burns like white-hot iron poured down his spine, flayed skin off his back. All Ric does is pull him away from the mirror by the arm, manhandling him until he bodily forces Dick’s face into his shoulder. It’s warm. The scent of cotton and spice calms him down far more than Dick wants to admit, despite the words he hears over his head.

“Dick’s not feeling well, I’ll go with you to the charity event tonight as your plus one instead,” Ric shoots Jason a meaningful look, “We’ll put Bill in charge of the streets for tonight.”

There’s a beat of hesitation, followed by Jason’s soft tenor, and a large hand petting Dick’s hair, “Is he sick? Should we just cancel it altogether?”

“No. He’s just having a bad night. He’ll feel better after he gets some rest.” 

Ric taps his shoulder twice in warning, _Pull yourself together._ And Dick’s entire life has always been just that, so he inhales, exhales, and lets out a low, miserable groan. “‘M fine. Just a headache.” He lies, because it’s a better explanation than the alternative, he doesn’t lift his head, even as Jason’s fingers press and card up through his hair. 

“You sure? You sounded… upset.”

Dick just shakes his head, “I get irritated and nasty when‘m sick. Makes me rotten company to be around really.” Jason’s silence is tense and telling, Ric’s arms tighten around his waist, rubbing soothing aggressive circles into Dick’s mid-back. 

It’s more grounding than he wants to admit, especially when he’s still this mad over having all his buttons messed with.

“I’ll just take an Advil and turn in, sorry to do this to you, Jase.” Ric pinches his side, hard and painful at that, Dick inhales sharply, but he stubbornly doesn’t correct himself. Jason’s hand is frozen in his hair for a moment, before slowly, reluctantly, he allows it to slide off.

“... Right. —Can you get him to bed okay?”

Dick hears another scoff above his head, “Mmhm. He’s just a big moody baby when he’s sick, go wait in the other room, Jase. I’ll be out and dressed' in a moment.”

Jason leaves them, after another undetermined amount of time Dick can’t be arsed to keep track of; the silence that follows is thick and overbearing. “Dick,” Ric finally says, seriously, “look at me.” Despite everything inside of him wanting to climb walls at the very suggestion, Dick does. He must look awful because Ric’s hardened face softens ever so slightly with a single glance.

A hard kiss is pressed to his forehead. “You’re always in your own head—” he huffs out a sardonic laugh, “you need a night of rest.” Ric’s hands are rough and solid as they comb through Dick’s hair, almost in frustration. The action’s not painful but it’s a near thing.

“I’m not covering for you again, and I’m not playing mediator like I did in bed last week, either.” Ric’s hands leave then return armored with a damp face wipe, paying no mind to Dick’s weak protests as he rubs away the powder and half-finished eyeliner rough and business-like, jaw tightening. “I don’t even know why I covered for you in the first place, you’re acting like a damn teenager,”

Dick breaks eye contact, focusing on the tipped over bottles on the counters rather than Ric. “I didn’t _ask you to._ ” Ric’s face sets in something like anger for a split second, (Dick almost thinks he might actually need to brace himself for a punch), but then, just like the pushing and pulling of the waves, it washes away into something more stoic and neutral. Dick’s suddenly wary, he starts to pull back but Ric’s arms don’t allow it. They’re not quite the same solid, unyielding pressure as Jason’s raw strength, and there’s a bit of give the more he squirms and twists, but Ric’s always known how to trap Dick in a solid hold. And once he’s caught it’s _always_ been a pain to get away.

Horrifyingly, it dawns on him that if he wanted to be free, that he’d probably need to put _actual_ effort in, which just plain wasn’t an option with Jay in the next room. He glares, bristling as a burning heat roils in his gut, digging his nails into Ric’s shoulders in retaliation.

 _“Let go of me,”_ he says, wrinkling his nose when Ric raises a dubious eyebrow.

“Nope.”  
  
And Ric hasn’t carried him in years, they got too old for that kind of horsing around somewhere in their teens, though logically it was still _well_ within both their realms of ability. Either way, a part of Dick is still shocked when Ric dips down suddenly, and bodily hefts him up into his arms with nary a struggle. Dick snarls in frustration as he wordlessly stares at Ric, offended.

“You need a nap.”

“...Put… put me down.” Dick grits, voice wavering more pitifully this time, but his treacherous arms hold on tighter as they cross into the hallway, he catches a glimpse of Jason’s pinched face and buries himself further into Ric’s shoulder with a groan. The scent of Ric’s cologne is (horribly, unforgivably) soothing.

“This is wildly inappropriate, I’m pushing _thirty_.”

“And yet you continue to act like an emotionally unbalanced teenager.” Ric shoots back, kicking open the ajar bedroom door across the hall. Soon enough, Dick’s dropped rather unceremoniously onto the familiar California king, he feels his face twist into something sour as Ric stands over him, arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re making Jase anxious. He thinks you don’t _want_ him anymore.” As if Dick doesn’t know that already, as if it doesn’t kill something integral inside him every time he deflects Jason’s questions about his life _before_ , every time he sees disappointment reflected in seafoam colored irises when he keeps himself at a distance. He _knows,_ and so, Dick can’t think of anything else to say to that, his throat’s too dry, his face burning too hotly. 

“... I told you to shut up.”

Ric shoots him a nasty look, lip curling as he leans in, bracing his hands on either side of the mattress, “Sleep on it, go for a run to clear your head, leave until you figure it out—I don’t care. _Make. A. Choice._ ” Dick leans back as Ric leans in, wishing he didn’t have to meet that burning gaze. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Robbie, you _know_ I will. Just…” For the first time, Ric hesitates, “one way or another you have to make a choice, the longer you wait the more it’s gonna hurt if you back out of this.”

With that, he pulls away, but not before carding his fingers through Dick’s hair once more, this time, more tender—careful, it makes something in Dick ease. “... You’re so stupid,” Ric mumbles, tone a bit fond, “just… try thinking about yourself for once. It’s _fine_ to be selfish sometimes, you know?” 

A cold numbness perpetuates Dick’s gut, even long after Ric leaves the room, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Sometimes he forgets, how well Ric knows him, how well they know _each other_ ; it's fit to make his skin crawl.  
  
Ric’s right. He’s having a bad day.

He allows himself to fall backward onto the satin red sheets, straining his ears to listen for hushed tones—Jason’s voice is muffled but tight with the kind of anxiety that makes Dick’s stomach twist in discomfort. 

_You started this, Grayson. Getting cold feet now just because you’re in deeper than you meant to be—? How irresponsible can you get?_

Dick grabs a pillow from the headboard and presses it to his face, blocking out his senses and the noise until, distantly, he hears the front door open and slam. He’s left in the stifling quiet of the apartment. It only makes the ants under his skin all the more antsy. 

He’s struck with the overwhelming urge to burn off the excess energy. Ric was right. He’d feel better after a run. 

♡

Jason’s nervous—it doesn’t take long for Ric to take notice.

They’re working the floor tonight during a charity night, a bi-monthly charity where they donate all proceedings to the narrows. Ric’s not so good at roping in investors or big fish, so he’s working the tables, playing intimidation when guests get a bit too rowdy, or aggressive. Jason’s supposed to be drawing in the big fish to make up for Dick’s absence and yet... Ric slinks over to where Jason’s seated at the casino bar, leg bouncing in irritation as he nurses a burban in his left hand. Easily plucking the glass from his tense partner, Ric takes a long sip of the smoky drink. (Dick’s no good with alcohol, Ric just likes the burn of it, the same way he likes his cigarettes.)

“... We shouldn’t’ve left him. He was upset..” Jason eventually mutters, a growing furrow in his brows.

Ric shrugs, downing the remainder of his stolen drink as Jason doesn’t so much as bat an eye (he never does these days, when either of them invades his personal space). “He was having a bad day. I made an executive decision, sometimes he exhausts himself, that’s all.”   
  
Jason looks troubled then, confused as he wracks his brain for a time when Dick looked a little more weary or tired than usual. Ric’s just fond enough to take pity on the younger man. “... Don’t look so brooding, Jase.” Ric knocks him against the shoulder with a lazy grin, “Dick just gets… stuck sometimes. He’ll bounce back.”

_‘Stuck’._

_That’s a word for it._

♡

Running always clears Dick’s head when his skin’s wrong and his balance is off-kilter. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s actually pulled out his workout gear. He supposes he just... never bothered, between having Ric as a sparring partner while they were on the road and being sucked into the overwhelming whirlwind that was seeing Jason Todd on the casino floor for the first time that fateful night. Finding himself growing ever fonder with each passing day, lying to himself that this was all just a spring fling that he could stay _just a little longer than usual_ , (even if this ‘fling’ was now well into Autumn at this point).

He could leave whenever he wanted. It wasn’t serious. Jason was just young and inexperienced, they were going to help him for a little while, really. Until he didn’t need them anymore. They just needed a place to rest their legs for a bit.  
  
(Right? That’s how it was _supposed_ to go.)

—His workout clothes are different from what he usually wears for yoga in the mornings, what he slips into is sleek and smart, made for flexibility. Dick leaves Jason’s highrise flat with his phone strapped to his waist and anxiety burning his skin. He locks the door behind him. 

♡

“He’s actually pretty damn self-sufficient, even if he’s bad at taking care of himself sometimes.”

Jason focuses his eyes on Ric, looking skeptical, “He whines about what he wants for dinner and begs me to take him to the jeweler every month like clockwork.”

Ric arches up an amused eyebrow, before giving Jason’s drink back to the bartender for a refill, “But think about it, has he _ever_ asked you for help? On anything relating to your business, even for the smaller things, like painkillers?”

“What would he need painkillers for?”

“He has a bad knee, and some minor chronic pain on top of that.”

He watches as Jase’s face twists into something complicated and troubled. “Why didn’t he tell me? I wouldn’t let him walk the floor as much as he does if he mentioned...”

And Ric’s just so tired of covering for Dick’s closed off bullshit, for keeping all of Dick’s secrets, even the ones that harm them all by staying in the dark. But to a degree they both had a measure of that Grayson stubbornness, inherited from their father, if left alone, Ric sometimes worries about just how much Dick would keep bottled up until his breaking point. So there’s no guilt when he tells Jason outright:

“He’s a self-sacrificial idiot with bad coping mechanisms and a martyr streak a mile long,” Ric’s thankful for when the drink makes a reappearance because he proceeds to drain half of it in a single go. 

“I love him to bits, Jase, if he goes, I go. Always.” He grasps for Jason’s hand, memorizing the shapes and all the callouses, carefully, Ric swallows, “I meant what I said that night, but—”

He’s cut off when Jason leans in to fit their lips together, he melts with the contact, reaching up his free hand to grip Jase’s shoulder. Jason’s warm and solid, when he pulls him even closer, Ric’s focus is shot to hell, by the time Jason pulls back again, resting their foreheads together. For a moment their eyes are locked, blue against an imperceptibly soft seafoam, the white noise of the casino seeming to fade into the backdrop.

It’s just so damn easy—getting lost in Jason’s eyes. Ric can’t remember falling this hard for anyone, Dick was the one who let people in, Ric chased them away, that’s how it's always been, even back _before_. 

“Dick’s the exception though... right?”

Something ugly and forlorn coils inside Ric as he nods mutely, “Jase... you’ve gotta understand. He’s given up _everything_ for me. I could spend an entire lifetime with him and honestly, I don’t think I’d ever be able to pay him back. Please, you’ve gotta understand I,”

But Jason, sweet, loveable, unreal Jason Todd, surprises him yet again, he laughs—lighthearted and beautiful as a sun finally peeking out of the clouds after a rainy day, “ _Sorry_ , sorry it’s just...” he cups Ric’s cheek, looking painfully fond, “Dick all but said the same thing about you.” 

_Fuck_.

In a burst of motion, Ric suddenly surges forward, almost upending Jason from his barstool, he buries his face in a comfortingly broad shoulder, “... Baby, you’re too sweet for the likes of us.” If his voice hitches a little, well, the casino’s too crowded for anyone aside from Jason to take notice.

Jason just dips down to press a chaste kiss to the crown of Ric’s head, “That’s funny—those were Dick’s exact words too.” 

(Ric hopes Dick chooses to stay. He likes this nest.)

♡

It’s been forever since Dick’s gone running on Gotham’s rooftops, there’s something bittersweet about the whole ritual, from still finding he knows these beat buildings and rusting fire escapes like the back of his hand, to that map of the city’s skyline playing behind his eyelids every time Dick so much as blinks. He hates how he knows _exactly_ where he is without even needing to look at the street signs. —The Upper East Side near Dillon Avenue, somewhere between where Jay’s high rise apartment resides and the Bowery by the scent of the docks Dick keeps catching on the wind. When he breathes in Gotham’s familiar scents, of polluted air and rotten sewers, Dick almost hates how at _home_ he feels—he hadn’t gone running since returning to Gotham. It’s a trap of the worst kind for people like Dick, who had cut out a piece of himself, something integral, and given it up for these streets. (Ric isn’t a liar, but if there’s one thing he’d ever lie about, Dick thinks, it’d be admitting that Gotham had her claws in him just as deep.)

The nostalgia of it all burns like concentrated arsenic fed straight into his veins, but then again, Dick’s always been a glutton for punishment. 

Dick leaps his way onto the next rooftop on autopilot, knees screaming with the impact as his feet pound against the unforgiving pavement without pause. He doesn’t have as much gear as he’d like, but the Upper East side’s rooftops are closer together, not as congested as lower Gotham, but easy to go without in a pinch… something in his brain stalls at the thought, then, before he forces himself to mentally backtrack. 

_That’s not who you are anymore._

Dick draws in a deep, grounding, breath. His name is Richard John Grayson. He has nothing to do with Bruce Wayne. He has no responsibility or stake in Gotham City. He is his own—A terrified scream cuts through his mantra, above the mindless, ambient noise of the rolling city, it’s pure muscle memory that has Dick lurching in the direction it came from. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, heart in his throat, as he stares wide-eyed in the direction where the sound came from.

The distressed noise repeats and Dick doesn’t think, he’s off like a shot, judging by the echo of the shout the civilian’s only a block away. He _knows_ he can make a block, he used to be able to sprint that in forty beats when he was a bit younger and more in shape. Counting down the seconds in his head, Dick finds he doesn’t like that it takes him a little over ninety to reach the source of the screams. 

A young woman, (a girl, hell, she can’t be older than seventeen), she’s in a metallic form-fitting party dress, Dick’s struck with the impression that she’s just left a club. Black mascara runs messily down her cheeks and face as her blonde hair is held roughly in some bulky older man’s fist, he’s got a few good weight classes on Dick, but he’s confident he’s fought meaner. Another spindly man behind him is barking out orders; Dick’s jaw clenches and so do his fingers, braced on the edge of the rooftop, he’s straining to listen:

“ _Oi!_ Hurry up—you already heard what the bossman said! He’ll have our damn heads if we don’t deliver the package on time!” (A light accent. Russian? Why was the Russian mafia this far Eastside? They usually stuck near the docks further South.)

“Well s _-ah-rry_ , the little bitchy broaw’d over here _bit me_ , how was I s’ppos’ta know she was this rough? She’s just some fuckin’ business tycoon’s spoiled brat fer cryin’s out loud!”

_Business tycoon? Traffickings out, reassess, gather more intel._

“I dun’ care if the brat bit off your damn _finger_ , Sully. Keep ‘er in line or it’s all of our asses come midnight o'clock.” 

(The girl’s a fighter, Dick’ll give her that, she’s still twisting and snapping like a feral alley cat all whilst screaming her lungs out—Gotham sure did know how to raise a spitfire if nothing else.)

“ _Just shud’er up—_ ”

“An’en _what_ knock our sole bargaining chip’s teeth out?”

Dick decides around then he’s heard quite enough; quietly, he leaps down to perch on the rusted fire escape a good five stories above. As he mentally he maps out his projected landing path he quickly finds, all things considered? His chances aren’t _that_ bad, he’s done pretty much the same routine from higher up places hundreds of times over the years, as his weary kneecaps could very much attest. With his mind made up, Dick pulls up his hoodie and jumps from the fire escape legs first, the rusting metal screaming from the force of his leap. Using the rough grip of the adjacent alley wall as momentum to slow his descent is practically second nature.

He sticks the landing—pretty damn well too Dick would say, considering how out of shape he is.

Looking out at a gaggle of goons proves to be a different kind of nostalgia, distinct from racing across Gotham’s rooftops. The lure to fall into old habits is an enticing sirens’ song; Dick spies the men looking around now, nervous gazes darting around the shadows of the alleyway having heard the ominous protests of the fire escape. 

Something inside of him comes alive, at the fear he sees in those eyes. 

“You know? I’ve got a sneaking suspicion the little lady doesn’t want to go with you,” he says, voice dropping a few octaves, popping his knuckles, melting out of the shadows as he advances on the group, “I think you fellas need to learn the meaning of the word ‘no’.”

_Ric was going to kill him for this._

♡

“Ric?” 

Ric’s head shoots up from where he’s hunched over his cell, glancing over at Jason with a distracted frown. His palms are clammy, he hasn’t been able to stop biting his lips raw for at least an hour now. He’s been sending Dick messages since Jason wandered off to work the floor while he’d left off to get some time alone on the balcony. The minutes ticking by feel like their own individual eternity and he _still_ hadn’t even gotten a response. He’s called twice now. Dick usually answers on the second ring.

Something isn’t right.

Because Dick, no matter how angry, no matter how wrapped up in his own shit, _always_ responded when Ric was messaging. Always. When he left with Jason earlier tonight, Ric knew deep down Dick wouldn’t be getting a lick of sleep, his brother _hated_ staying still when his mind was racing and his skin felt wrong all over. Ric drank when he had things on his mind, Dick did punishing physical exertion—it’s why Ric had suggested he go out for a run to clear his head. But here he was, trying every last number for every alternate burner he could think of and _Dick. Wasn’t. Answering. Any. Of. Them._

 **_Stupid._ ** _Dick had been doing yoga for months of course he wasn’t in shape enough to run. He’d never fall but what if he pulled something or made a mistake, or worse ran into—_

“ _Hey,_ ” Ric inhales sharply as large, warm hands grip his shoulders, directing his scrutiny away from his phone, “ _breathe,_ you gotta tell me what’s the matter, babe, or I can’t fix it.” Those familiar concerned oceans of seafoam green, oddly enough, leave his shoulders unwinding. 

Against his better judgment, Ric finds himself swallowing, “... I’ve been trying to reach Dick. He’s not answering.” His voice is firm and level as he can make it because Jason _still doesn’t get it._

Jason furrows his brows down at him, grip tightening and loosening on his chin, he gives Ric a look right then, like he wants to say a thousand things but just can’t find the words. His mouth is dry, his tongue feels heavy, he can’t find the words right away either for the unease spreading in his gut. The thoughts are scary, because his intuition is sharper than most—and damningly, it’s almost never wrong. 

“ _I’m_ calling,” he presses again, desperately, “He doesn’t play those games, not with me. _Never._ He wouldn’t.” Ric breaks away from Jason’s hold, foot-tapping as he hits the call button again.

Jason grips his wrist, stopping him in his tracks, eyes steady as sitting water, “... You’re being irrational. But I think you’re already perfectly aware of that.” His voice is low and reassuring, it does nothing to quell the building nervous energy in Ric’s muscles, however. 

He chews his lip, “... I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve just got a gut feeling,” Jason’s grip tightens on him before reeling him in closer—Jase has a way about him. A dangerous way that makes him weak. Once upon a time in a different profession, keeping that sort of weakness so close to his heart might’ve been dangerous. But right here, with Jason’s finger entangling in his own, against all odds, Ric finds the muscles in his back unwinding.

“Okay, look,” Jason pauses, thumb skirting along Ric’s knuckles, “Tell ya what, I’ll shoot a message to Jerry, tell him to check-in, and see why he’s not answering. How’s that?”

“I. Okay…” he inhales, _“okay.”_

Ric recoils guiltily, a pit opening up in his stomach at the kind touch he’s hardly even earned, with the weight of the secrets crawling under his skin. Because he knows there’s a very high probability that Dick’s long gone. That’s all Dick does—right? Disappearing acts. He’s always running away from something, whether it be from Bruce, the people he loves, or the numerous aches and pains that have plagued him over the years. But still, he’s never once run from _Ric._

 _He can only hope he doesn’t start. Ric’s not sure he could find him if Dick_ **_really_ ** _wanted to disappear._

Jase hits the call button and Ric tries to focus on breathing, letting the tension bleed out of his muscles bit by bit until—  
  


_“Excuse me?”  
  
_

Something in Jase’s tone stops Ric’s thoughts dead in their tracks. There’s something hard and cold he's seldom heard in that voice, Jason lets his hand go slack in Ric’s before pulling back and away to pace the length of the balcony, “What the fuck do you mean you got a ‘call’?”

Pause.

“I don’t care about a few trashed clubs, Bill. Slow down, start over, you're not making sense, fuckin’ hell—” The pit in Ric’s gut only seems to grow, there’s a roaring in his ears as he clenches his own phone in hand. Hits the call button. It goes directly to voicemail and—“... What. Pictures.”

Jason’s face is blank, completely devoid of emotion for a beat. Then for two more. Then three, as he silently listens to the voice on the phone. Until finally rage twists his features full-force even stronger than before; Ric swears he could probably hear Jase's jaw working if he were standing just a little closer. He hits the call button again on autopilot. Still no answer. Suddenly, Jase says something that makes the blood in his veins go from molten lead to glacial ice, the switch is so fast it leaves Ric hit with a wave of vertigo. The rest of Jason’s words seem to just fade in the face of the overwhelming sense of foreboding perpetuating every inch of his nerves. 

Before he realizes it, his legs are carrying him forward, he curls his fingers around Jason’s forearm as a disquieting stillness rolls over his form.

“Call in everyone, I’m dealing with this in person—” Ric catches a flash of green in those eyes as blunt nails claw against the finished marble of the balcony rail, “send Sionis a message to meet us at the Dixon’s or I’ll personally see to it that he _burns.”_

Jason’s exhales a curse through his teeth in a language Ric’s ears have to struggle to recall before it hits him _—Arabic. Jason knows Arabic?_ But he can’t dwell for long, Jason’s alarmingly still, with violence clear under his skin. His piercing emerald gaze glowers wordlessly across the bay at the silhouette of Gotham city. And while Ric has only known Jason Todd for the better half of a year, he's confident in saying that knows many of his partner's tells. From what makes Jase frustrated, to what calms him down, to what puts a smile on that roguish face of his, he's studied every detail. —But in all that time spent together, being Jason second, and an active cog in his business, Ric’s really only seen him this angry twice. Once when he got wind of the Russians dealing in people in his territory. Then, again when Ric informed him about the bottom feeders in their lower ranks dealing to kids. 

And somehow he already knows the reasoning this time, without a doubt, even as Ric feels his own conflicted mix of anger and frustration bubbling in his chest. “... It’s Dick, isn’t it.” It isn't a question, Jason’s eyes don’t leave Gotham’s skyline, teeth on edge, as the silence between them stretches on. 

“Yeah,” he eventually grits out, “it’s Dick.”

Ric can only scrub a hand over his face as his heart just plummets. “... I swear, I’m going to _kill_ that idiot for this.”  
  


♡♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ Hello all! It's sure been a while lol!  
> Had to take a pause on this fic to pump out my fanwork for this year's JayDick exchange! We're in the endgame now for this part folks (sorry for the cliffhanger after such a long wait but by god I will finish this...)  
> Do leave your thoughts below \o/ 
> 
> (no art this time, sad times, arts will be added later)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, stay tuned for part 2! \o/  
> (I apologize for any typos I missed 💦 I'll try and catch what I can in post...)


End file.
